Dropin
by drink-tea-and-carry-on
Summary: Alfred, an aspiring superhero who still hasn't got complete control over his powers, wonders if he'll ever be the hero he wants to be. But when a mysterious winged boy literally drops into his life, his career starts to get a whole lot more complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This chapter was originally posted on a different account that I no longer use and I've decided to rewrite the story slightly, though this chapter remains very similar to the original.

Alfred stood atop the skyscraper, looking with fond blue eyes over his beloved city. Darkness was descending on the scene, the sun falling over the horizon. He took a breath of not-so-fresh air and smiled, relaxing a little as he looked over.

Nothing had gone wrong so far. Maybe nothing would that night. Maybe nothing would for that next week. Sometimes it was like that. Sanctum City would stay quiet for a few days, weeks even and suddenly crime would shoot up. Alfred didn't mind too much, it was nice to have a break sometimes as long as the peace didn't last too long. It wasn't just because he got bored that Alfred didn't like this, though this was a largely contributing factor, but because when there was a long period of calm it made him jumpy, like some big shot villain was coming up with a brand spanking new plan. It never happened, of course, but that wasn't the point. Alfred didn't know what attracted criminals to Sanctum City; there were plenty of other cities that were protected by lesser superheroes-Alfred respected every hero greatly, but he knew he was the awesomest-that would have been easier to break laws in, but Sanctum City seemed to attract them all, and one by one, from the pettiest shoplifter to the infamous drug lords, making it one of the grimiest, scummiest places in America. The city hadn't always been this way. When Alfred was little, Sanctum had been the safest place in the north of the US. But Galactic Shield, the city's best and most famous superhero, had disappeared along with all the others during the War. It was Alfred's dream to restore Sanctum City to the great place it once was. Alfred was not known well among the press. Though he had an impressive record when he did well, he also had a spectacular amount of failings, through no fault of his own. He was young, and he couldn't fully control his powers yet, especially under high stress situations. Perhaps his appearance also had something to do with it. His young, lanky looks, glasses and shoddy homemade costume combined made him look more like a geeky teen at a comic convention, role-playing as his favourite superhero, rather than actually making him look like one.

It was only a matter of time before the next crime occurred. In fact, it was just about to happen. But if Alfred was going to do anything right, he would first need to find a way off this roof.

It hadn't been a crime at all. More rather a distress call from an old woman who's cat was stuck in a tree. But he could feel the tingling in the back of his head; somewhere in the city, someone was actually in trouble, someone who actually _needed_ his help.

"But what about Mr. Fluffy?" The senior citizen croaked, eyes downcast and shrivelled.

"Look, lady, I'm sorry but I'm too busy to be doing something like this, I've got to go!" Alfred explained to the old woman, whose brows furrowed quickly as Alfred turned to leave. Suddenly Alfred choked as his cape was pulled tightly back over his throat and he was dragged by the old pensioner's walking stick to the tree where her cat resided. He struggled, but found his superhuman strength gone, deflated like a balloon.

"He's up there." She said, squinting and jabbing her cane towards the ugly cat who was howling in the tree. Alfred scowled, adjusted his glasses that didn't quite fit on his flimsy mask, and retrieved Mr. Fluffy, though why the cat had such a nice, he had no idea. Not only was it a hairless Syphnx cat but it also had the attitude of a rabid midget tiger. He returned the cat to its doting mistress, not without scratches that bled profusely down his cheek, having been caught on the worse end of a nasty cat with sharp claws. Alfred was not a cat person.

"Oh, Mr. Fluffy, I was so worried about you! Lucky that this nice young lad was here to save you!" She cried, snuggling up to her skinny pink cat.

"It's not like I had a choice." Alfred mumbled to himself but despite her age, the old woman seemed to hear and narrowed her beady eyes.

"Mr. Fluffy, since this young man saved you," She smiled a little evilly. Alfred paled, shocked that a lady of about eighty-five could look so sadistic. "Why don't you give him a nice big kiss?"

And before Alfred could protest the cat in his face, screeching and swiping Alfred on the nose. He sprang back and rubbed his face, grunting from the unnecessary pain and frustration and watched as the old lady trundled off into the distance, laughing quietly.

Once again, Alfred felt the familiar alarms ringing in the back of his head, signalling to him that someone in the city needed help. The buzzing wasn't too loud, which meant that the plea wasn't too desperate, but since there was nothing else going on...

Alfred honed in his hearing, listening out for anything that sounded remotely like a distress call. And there it was.

"Help, somebody catch that thief!"Came a man's voice from somewhere in Sanctum City.

Being super fast, Alfred quickly got to the scene of the crime. A disgruntled man was standing by an ATM machine, clutching one side of his face and pointing up the street, finger shaking angrily.

"Thief! Thief!" The man saw Alfred and poked his finger in the direction he wanted him to go. "He went that way! He attacked me and made off with my money, he did, the little thief!"

Alfred saw a figure sprinting up the main street, already halfway up. No one bothered to try and stop him and he dodged quickly. He tuned into the figure, zooming in. The form looked male, though it was hard to tell as he was hooded, and Alfred's vision started to waver as the adrenaline started pumping. He was clutching something to his chest, presumably the money he had stolen. Alfred started chasing after the thief, faster than any normal human but still not at his full speed when he practised on his own. Eventually he was in front of the criminal.

"Stop!" Alfred shouted. "In the name of the law!"

However, he didn't stop. Instead he shoved Alfred to the side and continued running. The hero gave a little scream and fell hard into a puddle before jumping up and running after him again.

The figure glanced back at Alfred and Alfred saw the green flash of his eyes before he turned away again, speeding up as he turned a corner. Alfred's eyes widened and he swore silently to himself. This guy was cleverer than most criminals.

That corner lead to the main square in Sanctum City. Lined with shops and take-away restaurants, The Square was popular with many for cheap food and clothing. Alfred knew that it would be difficult to find him in the crowds, and he would be lost forever if he turned down one of the many backstreets that broke off from The Square. If a criminal knew his way around those back alleys, then he could hide anywhere. Alfred sped up and hoped, no, _prayed_, that he didn't. But he could already feel the heavy hands of failure pulling at his heart. He turned the corner and stopped, eyes scanning over the crowd. A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of his head and into the crevice of his right ear. He couldn't fail. He _wouldn't_ fail! Not again. Suddenly, he heard a shout and he turned his head towards the direction of the cry. A woman had fallen over, pushed by the hooded figure, who was now shoving his way through a group of outraged teenagers, some who proceeded to chuck things at him, lighters, cigarette butts, even a glass bottle or two. Alfred continued in the hunt, quickly stopping to help up the fallen lady, who blushed at the handsome albeit slightly dorky young man's gloved touch. Alfred quickly flashed her one of a smile that would've won him an award before making off for the criminal.

Alfred was so close to the man that they were practically touching. He could hear his laboured breathing and knew that he would soon be caught. He knew for sure that the figure was a man now; closer up, the shape of the man's body, even under the hoody, was more recognisable, and besides, just the deep breathing alerted Alfred that the criminal was a man, albeit a young one, probably younger than he was. No older than seventeen, eighteen at the most.

Then Alfred reached out, fingers grabbing hold of the man's arm, but slipping off. Luckily, he caught on to the sleeve of the hoody and pulled, yanking the man towards him. The other swore violently and dropped the wad of cash notes he had stolen, scattering them all over the floor. Alfred nearly gasped. Notes worth at least $500 were there. While his eyes were averted, Alfred heard a tear as the material that was still clutched in his hand tore away from the main article of clothing. Cursing the weak material, he made one desperate lunge, which he missed, then decided to pick up the money before continuing the pursuit. He looked up to see the figure disappearing into one of the many small streets and Alfred knew he had lost. But that didn't stop him from going after him. Quickly tucking the money securely into his white-painted belt, Alfred jumped up and made his way down the empty street. He saw the person at the end of the short alley, twisting his head either way, deciding where to go, then deciding left was the best way. Alfred felt his heart leap; maybe this criminal didn't know the backstreets as well as he thought he did. Maybe he had a chance to capture him and bring him in. After many glimpses of his target, twisting and turning up and down the backstreets. Once again, the man disappeared around a corner. Alfred turned.

The street was short, and ended quickly. A dead-end. But yet, the thief was nowhere to be seen. The small passage was completely empty. There was no trace of the man who had previously been there, and Alfred felt his anger boiling up, something that rarely happened. How could he have failed? A petty criminal had escaped him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Sure, Alfred had gotten the money back, but that wasn't the point. That criminal was only young. A while in a juvenile detention centre, prison even, would have done him good, taught him a lesson. But now he would go on to commit another crime, and then another and another. Each worse and worse each time. And if Alfred couldn't catch a common criminal, how could he be expected to protect the city from future super villains? He couldn't.

Then something caught Alfred's eye. A smudge of dirty white lying in the midst of a dirty puddle. Alfred bent forward to see what it was. A single feather, more grey than white from filth, lay floating, scraggly and grubby on the water's surface. He picked it up, turning it in his fingers before throwing it away. It was just a useless piece of rubbish.

Then he returned home.

The man whose money Alfred had retrieved was so pleased with the hero that he gave him a reward of $100, an unusual occurrence in Sanctum City, where good deeds were hardly awarded. On a normal day, Alfred would've been pleased, but he wasn't.

He had returned to his apartment as Alfred F. Jones, a comic book artist for the biggest comic company in the world. He enjoyed his job. Before he had gained his powers and become a superhero he had always wanted to be a comic artist. Drawing the adventures of superheroes was as close as he ever thought he would get to their lives. His comics weren't particularly popular or well known but, along with his day job at the local cafe, they earned enough income to pay the bills.

So Alfred F. Jones was sitting at his desk, knowing he had to think up of at least another page of the comic before the deadline, tomorrow, though also knowing that he was too distracted to work. Alfred groaned and pulled at his hair, the strand that always stuck up poking between his fingers. He took his glasses off and held his head in his hands. A day had passed since Alfred had lost the man in the alley, and Alfred couldn't get his mind off it. How had he managed to escape? There were no buildings he could have gone into. The few doors and windows on that road were boarded up, Alfred had done it himself after gangs started to reside there. It was so uncool! Alfred got up, deciding to take a break. He left his apartment, putting on his coat on his way out and going onto the street. He immediately stuffed his hands inside his pockets, the cold quickly getting to him. That was the one thing Alfred did not like about Sanctum City; the unbearable cold in the winter. Once Alfred was on the main street, he bought a cup of hot coffee from a vendor, sipping. The warmth made him smile briefly and he walked on, trying to conserve the heat. He picked up a newspaper and walked to the local park, sitting on the bench under a tree, his favourite spot for relaxation. He flicked through the newspaper.

Suddenly the back of his head was tingling faintly and Alfred looked up. The coffee vendor was obviously having an argument with the young man that had been behind Alfred ad the hero stood up, moving slightly closer. It was probably nothing but if a fight did break out, he would be close enough to intervene.

"Come on, I'm only a dollar short!" The buyer made said angrily, fists clenched against his sides. "This tea is ridiculously overpriced anyway!"

"Look," The vendor argued back, "I'm can't sell to you unless you have the money! If I gave freebies to everyone, I wouldn't stay in business very long!"

"But this isn't a freebie! I've got money, you're still making a profit, just sell me the tea, you stupid git!"

When the vendor refused, the man scowled and stormed away, chucking the collected coins on the ground. Alfred watched his shivering back, his frozen hands rubbing for the warmth of friction, and felt a pang of pity. He scooped up the coins and took a dollar from his own pocket jogging up t the man and tapping him on the shoulder. He jumped and twisted, before his face frowned.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking annoyed.

The man was older than Alfred was by three or four years, dressed in a simple black hoodie with dishevelled blonde hair and absinthe green eyes. Large brows framed his face and thin rosy lips were set on his pale face. He had an accent, posh and English. Alfred held out the coins and grinned.

"I thought that you might want to buy a hot drink." He said cheerfully.

The man glanced warily at his hand, seeing the extra dollar before his face grew surly and dark.

"I don't want your charity." He said, coldly before taking on a haughty, proud look and walking off.

Alfred slowly pulled back his hand, shrugged and pocketed the change.

"What a sour old man." He said to himself, before he returned to his bench to wallow in his thoughts.

**Author's note:** So, what did you think? This will be a USUK fic, it may no longer be my favourite pairing (PrUK FOREVER!) but Alfred just fits the character so well. After all, he is the hero!

Sanctum City, as far as I know, is completely fictional. I would use a real place but I've never been to the US and I didn't want to get anything wrong. Sanctum City is a dumb name but it's all I could think of. Alfred doesn't have a superhero name yet. Have you guys got any suggestions?

Anyway, thanks for reading, and if you liked it, please review! I don't mind if it's not very detailed feedback, just sending me a quick note to say you liked it makes me happy.

Oh yeah, Alfred F. Jones belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Despite his upset at his previous failure, two or three days passed and Alfred had completely forgotten about the mysterious disappearing thief.

Work was going well; his comic, though still relatively unknown, was gaining popularity faster than expected and he had even come across a picture of someone cosplaying as one of his characters. The photo filled him with a giddy sense of glee and some sort of dull pride. He had even received a couple of phone numbers from girls at the cafe, along with a few generous tips, though he had yet to call any one of them back, much to his own guilt and displeasure. It's not that they weren't pretty; he just didn't have the time. The comic book company had even provided him with a new graphics tablet to replace his old barely functioning one that had served him well for years, but even so, he was happy to be rid of it. On the other hand, his superhero career was also moving on, albeit more slowly. He could almost reach his full speed, even in public, and his hawk vision was almost perfect, as long as he kept his glasses on, though they sat awkwardly on the end of his mask covered nose...he really needed contacts.

Alfred was rushing home, having finished cleaning and closing up the cafe for the evening, a leftover, slightly stale blueberry muffin in one hand, his old backpack slung over one shoulder. In this backpack was his costume; he never knew when he might've needed it, so he took it with him to work. He took the back route. It was dodgy, especially at night, but fast and besides, he was a hero. One neon light illuminated the whole backstreet, liquid shadows creeping out of corners and gulping it up. Alfred took care to avoid the huge mudded puddles that littered the path. Suddenly, as if the gods had sent it just to mock his efforts, some rude person ran straight into Alfred, knocking him right into one of these said puddles and soaking him all over.

"Watch it!" He shouted angrily after the teen and his friends, picking himself and his glasses up out of the puddle. After wiping the dirty water from the lenses, Alfred placed the glasses back on his head. About three or four seventeen year-olds were speeding as fast as they could down the alley, laughing and shouting obscene remarks, throwing things high over their heads. Alfred narrowed his eyes; it looked suspicious. He jogged after them, slowing down to a walk as he passed them and quickly span round a corner. The youths had stopped running but were still chucking rocks and stones up into the sky. What were they throwing at? Alfred looked up and his mouth fell open.

A small angel passed high over him, moonlit wings huge in comparison. Alfred let out a small breath of air and a raw whisper of awe escaped his throat. The figure's hooded head whipped back even at this tiny sound before suddenly there was a harsh cry as the figure jerked like a fish and dropped like a stone. Alfred sped forward in alarm, out into the main part of the alley, in full view of the youths who seemed to be harassing this winged person. He was still falling, wings trailing limp and useless behind him, fluttering violently in the rushing wind. Alfred only just had enough time to break his fall, a burst of white feathers dislodging and exploding around him upon impact. Despite Alfred's superhuman strength, he hadn't expected the collision and his legs betrayed him, once again forcing him tumbling to the floor. His hood had fallen back, revealing a familiar face. On a closer look, Alfred could see that he his too-long choppy hair was dark with blood that was leaking from a large gash on his forehead and falling into his closed eyes. His skin was even whiter than he remembered, looking almost grey and Alfred guessed that this wasn't usual, even for the pale stranger. The hero blinked in surprise; how could the stuffy stuck-up old guy he met in the park be this kid who honestly looked no older than seventeen? A pained groan escaped the stranger's lips and startlingly green eyes opened slightly, fluttering downwards and a hand shot up to his left shoulder where blood was also streaming dark and thick from his wing, staining swan white feathers and deep shade of crimson. A agonised gasp was emitted from his mouth and he struggled from Alfred's arms and got up, still pressing a now red hand to his shoulder, which also seemed to be sporting an injury, and flapped his wings carefully before hissing in pain, deciding against trying to use the injured limb and stumbled forward a few steps on weak, trembling legs before he tripped and, panting heavily, didn't get up. His bare feet were also bleeding, tiny shards of glass deeply embedded into the soles. Green eyes bore into Alfred's blues, before closing again. The man coughed and gritted his teeth, unable to move without harming himself further. A single blooded feather fell from a wing and landed on a puddle's surface and Alfred suddenly realised what had happened on that day, where the criminal had gone and his eyes flashed, turning back to the man with accusation in his eyes, but he only looked away, slightly shamefacedly, knowing that Alfred had figured it out.

But now the other youths were approaching, looking mad, with rocks that looked heavy in their hands. One picked up an empty beer bottle from the floor and started twirling it in his fingers.

"What the hell, man?" One, wearing a beanie shouted. "Fuck off, before we beat your ass!"

Another, completely ignored Alfred. "Gonna fucking kill you, freak! Will teach you to fucking mess with us!" He screamed at the man behind Alfred.

Alfred was a superhero, and despite the winged man's criminal status, he knew he had to help. Heroes didn't leave anyone who was in danger and he took a wide stance, balling his hands into tightly bound fists.

"Back off, or I'll kick all of your asses." Alfred growled, voice low and threatening.

It didn't seem to faze them. A thuggish lad with huge hands laughed and walked closely to Alfred, staring up into the tall young man's eyes. The teen tried to shove the other but his wide lands never reached Alfred's chest. Alfred, as quick as a passing thought, grabbed his wrist and managed to flip him, grinding him into the dirt. His friends sprang. A bottle twirled through the air and Alfred ducked, grabbing his assailant's ankle and tugging strongly, pulling him into the ground. He jumped up, dodging the rock that one had swung at his head and knocking him out with a well aimed punch. Only one was left, a weedy little guy with a buzz cut and large watery eyes. He blinked twice, glanced at his unconscious friends and scarpered, running quicker than Alfred had ever seen a normal human being run before.

When he was sure that the youth wouldn't return and that the other's weren't waking up anytime soon, Alfred turned and swore to find the man lifeless, face-down on the floor, beautiful wings spread wide and floppy like a ragdoll. They shone white and sparkled with flowing blood, almost glowing in the darkness. Alfred rushed up and fell to his knees, quickly checking the stranger's pulse, only to find his heartbeat quick and erratic and he bit his lip nervously. Alfred picked the man up and was surprised at his minimal weight. Having superhuman strength made everyone easier to carry but this one was even more so and as carefully as he could, he delicately carried the fragile looking being home.

The angel woke with a start, finding himself atop a bed, wounds and injuries bandaged and cleaned, badly, but it was better than nothing. He looked around his surroundings. The room seemed perfectly normal, childish even, like it belonged to a hyperactive fourteen year-old. Posters of superheroes plastered the walls along with American flags and comics littered the room. Even the duvet was emblazoned with the Superman emblem. An x-box 360 was plugged into a wall at the other end of the room and on the bedside table was a half eaten burger. There was a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, so bright that it hurt his eyes. Groaning slightly, he sat up and swung his legs over to the side of the bed, settling his feet down on the floor before wincing and bringing them up immediately. He inspected the soles of his feet. The person who had patched him up obviously didn't bother or had forgotten to remove the splinters of glass from his soles and gritting his teeth, the angel pulled them out himself with his fingers, except the few that he knew he would need tweezers for. He took his fingers carefully up to his shoulder and noticed that blood was still seeping slightly from the wound. The man re-laid his feet on the carpet, only by the tips of his toes and bent over, letting his head fall into his hands and his fingers knot in his dirtied hair, blood still dried in his fringe, exhaustion almost overcoming him. His head was swimming. It felt like his brain was mushed up baby food, now being swirled by a doting mother for her young child. He heard a noise, a shuffle and instinctively folded his wings against his back inside his hoodie, hidden from sight. He tensed and walked over the bed, ignoring the sharp pangs of pain that shot through each of his feet like bullets every time he walked, sinking slightly into the bed with each painful step and jumped, landing heavily on his feet. He crouched down behind the bed. The door creaked open, and a handsome young man opened the door. He must have been in his early twenties, and he was tall and well muscled, though his glasses and spiderman t-shirt made him seem a bit geeky. In fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. His sky blue eyes went to the empty bed and the angel smirked when he started freaking out.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." He said, panicked, checking cupboards and wardrobes, filled with piles of messy clothes. "Shit, shit, shit, where'd he go?"

The man, despite his hurting wing, shoulder, feet and forehead, had to restrain himself from laughing at the young man. After about two minutes of watching him, he let out a quiet chuckle and the man span round, eyes narrowed. He stormed around the bed and he swore silently to himself, suddenly serious and squeezed under the low bed, nearly gasping out loud as his injured wing scraped the wooden post. He squirmed through, and out the other side, running to the door.

"Hey!"

The angel looked back and gave a smirk before opening the door to find the man standing in the doorway.

"Jesus bloody Christ!" He shouted, leaping back, but the man already had his wrist in a snake like grip. "Let go of me!" He snarled, tugging his arm back, only for the man's hold on him to tighten painfully. He struggled and twisted in his grip and the man held up one hand, pushing him gently forward as he closed the door.

"Careful, you're gonna hurt yourself even more if you keep going on like that!" The man said, forcefully. "Calm down, take a chill pill! Wait until my brother arrives, he'll be able to patch you up properly." The man released him, though still standing in front of the door, as if unsure whether he would try to run away or not.

The winged man scowled and rubbed his bruising wrist. There was no doubt that this man was like him, with that strength.

"Who are you and where am I?" He demanded, shoulder's bristling.

The young man's eyes blinked behind his steel rimmed glasses. "Wait...don't you remember what happened last night?"

He blinked back. Suddenly his aggressiveness was gone and he looked slightly embarrassed. "What are you talking about? I wasn't drunk was I? We didn't..." His hand popped up to cover his mouth to stop a gasp escaping and he went bright red, wide green eyes contrasting violently.

The man looked confused until he realised what the angel was saying and shook his head frantically, turning pink himself.

"No, no! Nothing like _that_! You were being chased and..."

The winged man let out a sigh of relief and his hand dropped. He rubbed his temples tiredly.

"Dear Lord, you gave me a fright. Hold on, what was that about being chased?"

The man looked quizzically at him before continuing.

"You were being chased by a bunch of dudes and um...you were flying, but they hit you with rocks and you fell. And me, being the hero, saved the day!" His voice grew faster and more excited, and a grin lit up his childish face. The other didn't return the smile, but looked on coldly.

"Well, if that is all, I think I'll be taking my leave." He said calmly, making his way towards the door, but the taller man's face suddenly turned serious and he blocked the way.

"Sorry, buddy, but I can't let you do that."

The man froze and glared right into Alfred's eyes and Alfred grimaced, feeling the freezing cold radiate from the stranger's clear green eyes.

"Why not?" He asked, scarily calm, eyes acidic but icy.

"Um...Well," Alfred tried to make his own eyes hard and cold like the winged man's, but failed, not knowing how to at all. "You're a criminal. And I'm a hero. And heroes don't let criminals go free." Alfred said, puffing up his chest.

The man snorted and folded his arms over his own chest. "Superhero, my arse. You look like you're barely out of high school."

Alfred deflated, frowned and gently pushed the man to the bed. "Sit down." He said.

The man did not. "I'd rather stand."

"Sit down." Alfred ordered again, more forcefully. "I want you to answer some questions."

The man pulled a face but did as he was told. He glowered on the bed, pulling out his wings and flexing them slightly as not to further worsen his injury. Alfred watched in awe, with bright child's eyes and unconsciously reached out to touch them, but the man moved back even further on the bed and Alfred caught himself.

"Ok." He started, pacing the floor in front of the bed slightly. "First off, what's your name and how old are you?"

The man looked mildly annoyed and sighed melodramatically, looking to the side. "Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. And I am currently twenty three."

"Woah, seriously? I thought you were eighteen or something? You're _old_!"

Arthur huffed in irritation and clenched his teeth. "Alright I know I'm on the smaller side but I'm not _that_ short-"

"-Now that I think about it, you do speak like an old guy. Or maybe that's just because you're British?"

"Aren't you meant to be interrogating me?" Arthur asked, frustrated. His impressive brows were furrowed deep.

"Oh yeah! Uh, I don't really have any more questions, I kinda already know that you're guilty." He grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

"Would you mind leaving me alone then?" Arthur asked hopefully.

" 'Fraid not, Artie, can't have you escaping now, can we?" Alfred said in an overly enthusiastic voice, ignoring protests of ',my name isn't Artie!' He collapsed onto the bed, elbowing Arthur in the ribs.

"Scooch over, will you?" He complained, and Arthur shuffled over towards the very end of the bed, pressed right up against the headboard. "Must be cool having wings." Alfred looked at him with slight jealousy. "What's it like up in the air? You must feel so free, like...like an eagle or something."

Arthur's permanently angry expression faded into something more wistful and he looked more like the young man that Alfred had rescued a night ago rather than the old(ish) guy that had scorned him in the park.

"It's the most wonderful thing. Watching the world beneath my feet and feeling the wind rush through my wings. It's fantastic." Suddenly that look was gone and Arthur just seemed sad. "But I don't think I'll be able to do that for a while." He said softly, stroking the feathers on his uninjured wing.

There was silence. "I suppose I'll be going to prison, then?" He said, still not looking at Alfred.

"Yeah, not for too long...you don't sound all too upset. Have you been to jail before?"

"Hmm."

Alfred was more than a bit confused about the vague answer. "What?"

"It's doesn't matter." Arthur answered, looking very withdrawn and secretive.

"Now I'm curious. Tellll meeee." Alfred whined, grabbing Arthur's sleeve, only for it to be yanked away.

"Curiosity killed the cat." He said, anger beginning to boil on his features.

"And satisfaction brought it back." Alfred replied. "Come on, Artie!"

"Bloody hell, stop whining, and for the second time, my name is Ar-THUR, not Ar-TIE." Arthur said, emphasizing on the last syllables of his name. "Can't we talk about something else? Or better yet, not talk at all!"

Ignoring his second request, Alfred carried on talking.

"So, why were those guys chasing you anyway? They seemed pretty pissed."

Arthur looked guilty and squirmed slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash only slightly smaller than the one that Alfred had retrieved before, and looking away, handed it to the hero, who frowned and snatched it out of his hands.

"A bit low on cash, are you?" Alfred said, tucking the money into his pocket.

Arthur scowled and still didn't look at him. "More than a bit." He said. "I don't have two pennies to rub together."

Suddenly a doorbell rang very loudly, making Arthur jump and Alfred grinned.

"That's Mattie! My little bro's arrived!"

**Author's note: **Ahh! So sorry for the crappy chapter T^T Only on the second chapter, and I already suck. Especially at action scenes. I'm no good at them but this is a superhero fic, so there are going to be lots :( Any tips for me? One more thing, to any American readers, does Alfred sound at all American? I'm trying to make him sound as un-British as I can without making him speak French, but I don't think that I'm succeeding.

Thank you so much to anyone who read or favourite-ed this story! Special thanks to princesspug, Sam and Kakita101 for reviewing my first chapter :3 You are all nearly as awesome as Prussia! princesspug, thanks for the name suggestion, I don't think Alfred's superhero name will come up for a while but I there's a large possibility that I will use your name, as I am absolutely HORRIBLE at names of any kind. Does anyone else want to make a suggestion for Alfred's superhero name? So what you guys think should happen next? And also, what are your favourite parings, you never know, I might just include them.

Just to clarify, Arthur is twenty three and Alfred is twenty one. And I know that the age difference is different but I made it a bit smaller. Call it artistic licence.

Both Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

And so Alfred left the room, and though to Arthur he seemed like an oblivious, idiotic man he still took care to lock the door behind him, so he couldn't really be that stupid. Arthur got up, pulling off his hoodie, and walked around the room; the windows were small, too small for him to crawl through with his wings. Even if he had somehow managed to fit through, his newly acquired injuries prevented him from doing so. So instead of continuing to look for ways of an obviously impossible escape, Arthur pressed his ear gently up against the poster covered door and listened carefully. Not that he needed to listen very hard for the American, he was loud enough but the man who was supposedly his brother seemed a lot more soft-spoken.

"Hi Al, I'm sorry I'm late, I came straight from the-"

"Mattie!" Arthur heard through the door, and the sound of a breathless squeal. He frowned at the man's rude manners.

"A-Alfred, please don't hug so tight, I can't breathe." There was a quiet whisper and slight wheezing.

"Oops, sorry Matt, I forgot." A relieved sigh echoed through the door as he was released.

There was a click of the key twisting in the lock's guts before the door swung open and Matthew entered the brightly coloured room, a little smile coming to his face as he did so. It looked exactly the same as it had when they had been little boys. He wondered if Alfred would ever grow up, but found himself realising that he didn't want him to anyway.

The only thing that was out of place was the small drips of dried blood on the carpet and more on his brother's bed, along with the small man that was standing in the middle of the room, supposedly the guy who's blood was spattered around Alfred's room. Matthew's mouth dropped as his eyes scanned the battered figure, lingering on the wide wings that looked completely natural yet so awkward on the man's thin back. Suddenly, Matthew caught the man's gaze. Hard green eyes stared into his own, burning with something that Matthew recognised but couldn't place. They narrowed, blazing with hostility, almost daring him to take a step closer. Matthew quickly looked away and took a deep breath before looking back at the stranger, trying to act professional.

"Hey Arthur!" Alfred called, far too loudly for the size of the room and walked up with bouncing strides, like some sort of hyperactive puppy and slung an arm around him, not noticing the wince that resulted from it. Arthur muttered something, which Alfred frowned at before his face stretched into a smile.

"Artie, this is my brother, Mattie. Mattie, this is Arthur!"

Arthur looked up and his mouth dropped, green eyes widening with a mix of emotions that the Alfred's twin recognised but couldn't quite place. When Arthur remained in his place, seemingly frozen to the spot, Matthew smiled and stepped forward, extending a hand. The scruffy haired blonde sprang back, wrenching himself from beneath Alfred's arm and gasped quietly. He mouthed something and from what Matthew could see, it appeared to be 'white coat'. He frowned slightly because it made no sense before looking back up at Arthur. His green orbs once again met his, hard and flaming with anger, pain and...fear?

Alfred looked back at his brother, obviously confused and then back at Arthur.

"Artie, man, what's wrong?"

Alfred hadn't been expecting it, not again. A split second after the question was asked, Arthur had shoved past Mattie and was at the door, hand on the doorknob, about to twist and make his way to freedom.

"Arthur, stop!"

Alfred burst forward, grabbing Arthur by his hood and dragging him back with one sharp jerk of the arm. The man was hollering at the top of his lungs, eyes too wide and wild. They darted everywhere while he desperately fought to pull himself away, nails reaching back behind him and scratching at Alfred's hands.

Alfred stared in astonishment at the once calm man he was now holding by the fabric of his hoodie. What had sent this man –so calm about everything before, even accepting the fact that he was going to prison without so much a blink- into this feral frenzy? Arthur seemed nothing like the man he had conversed with, not now.

Suddenly there was a flurry of loose feathers that filled the entirety of the room, shook loose from his injured wing as he flapped both frantically, despite the pain this must have put him in. Both Alfred and Matthew's hair was whipped backwards by the sudden wind that resulted from the fast beating of those massive wings, and all the pieces of paper that were on the floor flew up and over the place. The winged man even managed to gain a small amount of lift, feet somewhat raising until the tips of his toes scraped the floor.

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted, above the noise of rushing wind. "Stop, you're only hurting yourself more!"

Arthur twisted again and one of his great wings hit Alfred, pushing him backwards and forcing him to let go for a moment. And a moment was enough for him. He was at the door in an instant, and he turned the doorknob, only for it to click and stop turning halfway.

Alfred had the only key.

"No!" Arthur shouted. "Open, DAMN IT!" He rattled the doorknob, shaking it so hard that Alfred was afraid it would fall off until he resorted just to shouting incomprehensible curses and kicking the door as hard as he could, despite the fact that he was not wearing shoes.

Alfred, getting up slowly and slightly dizzy, having hit his head against a bedpost after falling back, blinked and readjusted his glasses. Then he saw Arthur assaulting the door with his feet and swore, rushing forward again.

Matthew waited on the sidelines, eyes wide and frightened as he watched his brother tackle Arthur to the ground. All his brother had told him before was that he had caught a criminal (he was very excited by this at this point) but he also needed a little treatment. When Matthew had asked his brother why he couldn't have treatment at the hospital, Alfred had told him that there were 'special circumstances'. He didn't think it would be like this.

This time, Alfred had his arms around the smaller man, pressing his huge wings to his sides. Arthur wriggled, squirming and biting, choked gasps forcing themselves up and out of his mouth as his breathing quickened to a worrying point. He was in hysterics, meaningless pleadings pouring from his lips in stream of almost-gibberish and the only things that Matthew could catch were 'Stop it!', 'Let me go' 'Don't, please' and endless repetitive 'no's, everything he said littered with them. Much of his sentences didn't make any sense.

Eventually, Arthur's scrabbling hands became weaker, his fingertips losing clutch on Alfred's arms and Matthew noted that his face was completely drained of colour, tinted with a little green, as if he was about to be sick. Quite suddenly, the small man's struggling stopped all together and he slumped forward in Alfred's arms, head lolling loosely, as if about to drop off.

After a long look of suspicion, Alfred loosened his arms. When Arthur didn't react, he let go completely, and the small body crumpled to the floor. His eyes widened and he quickly bent down and scooped up the man into his arms, turning him over and looking worriedly at his now calm face, serene and at peace after the previous events.

"Shit, Mattie, I didn't crush his lungs or anything, did I?"

When his brother didn't answer, Alfred started to panic himself and turned to his brother with fearful eyes. "Oh geez, Matt, I've killed him-"

"-Alfred." Matthew interrupted softly, walking to his brother and taking Arthur in his own arms. He had more difficulty carrying him, of course, but he was still surprised at how light he was. He turned and carried him over to Alfred's bed, laying him down as gently as he could. "You haven't crushed his lungs, and you haven't killed him. He just passed out because he was hyperventilating."

Matthew saw his brother's shoulders relax and heard a sigh of relief and when he looked back at Alfred, who had taken off his glasses, eyes closed and was pulling his fringe back as he wiped a hand over his forehead and back over his skull.

"I can see why you didn't want to take him to a hospital. He certainly didn't react well to seeing me, did he?" Matthew said, fingering his long white coat that he hadn't had time to remove since work. He guessed it was that that had sent Arthur into what seemed to be a panic attack.

Alfred held up his hands. "Hey, I had no idea, he was going to freak out like this, dude. I thought it would just be better if you came, 'cause, y'know, he has wings and stuff." He put his glasses back on his head and glanced at Arthur, biting his lip. "I guess he has a fear of doctors or something. He is gonna wake up, ain't he, Mattie?"

The doctor snorted and rolled his eyes at his brother, even though he knew Alfred could only see his back. "Of course he is, stupid. But he's actually gonna be easier to treat now that he's knocked out." Matthew examined his patient and tsked at Alfred's bandaging skills, looking at the clumsily wound strips of fabric before taking off Arthur's shirt and he started to peel them off.

"Mattie-"

"Shut up, Al, no questions 'till I'm done."

He fell silent.

Matthew continued to strip Arthur of his bandages. He tended to the injured wing first. The wound was bleeding even more profusely now, having been damaged in Arthur's panic, and blood was beginning to stain into the sheets of Alfred's bed, and spread even further around the wing, slicking the feathers with a new coating of the red liquid. The wing, compared to the other, was now missing many feathers which were currently strewn around the room, a few actually residing in Matthew's hair. Matthew quickly opened the med pack he had brought with him and started to staunch the flow of blood, applying pressure to the wound, but not too much, nervous that he might cause more harm to the delicate bones in the wing. He was no vet. Once the bleeding had almost stopped, he sterilised the wound, and began to wrap clean bandages around it, though not very well, as all those feathers got in the way. After that, Matthew examined the rest of the wounds, doing the same to the others, but a small frown appeared on his face.

"Alfred, how did you say Arthur got all these injuries?"

"Uh, well, Artie had stolen some cash from a bunch of dudes that then started chasing him and throwing rocks and bottles and stuff at him while he was in the air, and then he just fell. And then I saved him, 'cause I'm just cool like that, y'know? Why'd ya ask?"

The frown remained on Matthew's face.

"Arthur does have lacerations, minor ones that could've come from thrown objects like that, but he also seems to have quite a lot of cuts. Ones obviously not from any thrown object, unless it was something such as a knife or similar. They're slightly older than the lacerations too."

"Huh?"

"Lots of bruises too. Aw, geez, Al, you didn't take the splinters of glass out of his feet. They're gonna take ages to get out now." Matthew complained, bending down so he could take a better look at the soles of Arthur's feet.

He took a pair of tweezers and started slowly and methodically picking the tiny shards out of his foot. Luckily, none seemed too deep. Normally, with something like this, Matthew would've applied a plaster but these tiny puncture wounds were all over his feet, so he just slapped on a couple more bandages. His toes on his right foot were fine, though extremely bruised from kicking the door so hard. It was a miracle that Arthur hadn't broken anything. Finally, he was done, having stuck down the last large plaster to the shallow cut on Arthur's forehead. Luckily, none of the wounds were too serious and none would need stitches.

Suddenly Matthew noticed something that made him frown even more.

"God, Alfred, I know you're not a doctor or anything, but even you should know not to use dirty bandages on someone's hands." He said, irritated. Honestly, he loved his brother but sometimes Alfred could be so _stupid!_

"What bandages? I didn't bandage his hands."

Matthew held the unconscious man's left hand, looking closely. They were not bloody, but the bandages were filthy, and obviously hadn't been removed or changed for weeks. The doctor tried to find where they started to he could take them off, but they were so coated in grime that he couldn't. In fact, when he looked, Arthur was very dirty. Though the dark colour of his hoodie and jeans hid the grunge, Matthew could tell just by the state of his bare feet and his hair, as well as the smell of the small man.

"Alfred, I think Arthur is homeless!"

"What? No way!"

"Have you seen the state of him? It looks like he hasn't washed his hair for weeks, he is extremely thin and he was stealing money. It seems really likely."

"I guess..."

Alfred squirmed, uncomfortable. Is that why Arthur didn't seem all that bothered about going to jail? 'Cause even prison was better than living on the streets?

Matthew picked up some scissors and cut the bandages straight off, having given up hope on ever finding the beginning of the bandage. What he saw underneath made Matthew gasp so loud that Alfred instantly came running over. Scars covered the entirety of Arthur's hands, from the beginning of his thin wrists to the tips of his slender fingers, the healed skin discoloured and patchy, considerably darker than the rest of the skin on his body. Horror filled Matthew, and Alfred's jaw practically dropped off his head. Matthew dropped the burnt hand instantly and drew his own back to his chest, tightly holding them together. Arthur stirred slightly in his sleep, his large brows furrowing slightly before he twisted over, snuggling his head deeper into Alfred's bloodstained duvet. The sight of Arthur's back brought a whole new wave of shock to the brothers; small circular burns, each only about a centimetre in diameter littered the pale skin on Arthur's thin back, except for the patch of skin that covered his shoulder blades, where his wings were attached to his body. These had occurred more recently, though both brothers could tell that some were older than others.

A tattoo was situated on the back of his neck, black ink as dark as pitch against the winged man's pale skin tone. It was a one line, standing alone, written in some foreign alphabet that Alfred didn't recognise.

Когда наступит тьма, даже ангелы будут падать.

"...Do you know what language that is, Mattie? 'Cause I sure don't."

"...No idea."

Matthew's eyes were still wide.

"God. I wonder what happened to him."

There was a long silence after that and Arthur turned again, hiding the scar and the tattoo on his neck.

"Mattie..." Alfred began, and he wrung his hands and looked down. "I want to help him."

"What? Arthur? Alfred, he's a _criminal_, he stole money from people! Who knows what else he has done?" Matthew said, looking at Alfred as if he was off the rail. Yes, he felt sorry for Arthur, but if his brother wanted to be a hero he couldn't go around making friends with every common thief in the neighbourhood.

"Aw, don't be like that Mattie. Arthur may've stolen stuff, but he's not a bad person."

"How do you know that?" Inside, Matthew agreed, but his more rational side scolded himself. Arthur was a complete stranger, one who had broken the _law_ at that...

"I just do. Look, Matt, I _know_ him, you don't."

That comment almost made Matthew explode.

"You've known him _for a day_!" He blurted out.

Alfred pouted, sticking out his lip like a smaller child. "Mattie, at least give him a chance. That's all I'm asking. Let him recover a bit at least before you make me cart his ass off to jail."

Matthew sighed, wiping a hand down his face in frustration. "Fine. I don't care. Do whatever you want."

"Yay, Mattie!" Alfred beamed and flung his arms around Matthew's neck and squeezed. He let go abruptly when he heard an alarming cough and grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry Matt..."

"It's fine..." Matthew managed to choke out, rubbing his neck and smiling a little, to reassure his older brother.

Suddenly there was a rustle of sheets, and a thick ground emerged from Arthur's slightly parted lips. His eyelids opened, already feeling crusty and looked around. He was in that room, that git, Alfred's room. What had happened? He remembered seeing that man...Alfred's brother and his breath hitched. Arthur looked around, and there he was, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Arthur backed away with a cry, falling off the bed in the process and landing painfully on his shoulder. His vision was still spinning slowly as he hit the ground but he scrambled up, one hand clutching the bed, the other his head, trying to stop his world from rotating.

Alfred was the first of the two to notice.

"Arthur!" He exclaimed. "You're awake!"

He jumped up and headed for him, but the smaller man flinched away, leaning back against the wall. "You get away from me." He ordered weakly, voice quavering and unsteady. His yes screwed up as he clutched his head.

Matthew went closer, slowly. He didn't make any sudden movements, realising that now, Arthur was like a trapped animal. Wary, frightened and ready to lash out.

"Arthur," He said, hands raised to show his empty palms. He took a step closer. "Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you." Another step.

"I'm not frightened!" Arthur snapped, green eyes scorching, wide, fearful. "Don't come closer!"

"Please, Arthur, I'm only trying to help-"

"That's what they all say!" Matthew took another step. "I told you _not to come closer!_" Arthur screeched and he shook visibly, the tips of his wings quivering. But there was nothing that he could do about it, not really. He was so _close_ now...

"Arthur, look at yourself. Who do you think bandaged you? The fairies?" Matthew raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile, hoping that Arthur would return with one of his own. He didn't, but he didn't say anything either.

Arthur's breathing was jutted, shaking with his trembling body. He closed his eyes slowly, before stepping forward. When he opened them again, his body had stilled and the pained look was gone, but flickers of fear still sparked in his eyes. He began to fiddle with a feather that he had picked out of his hair, twisting it in his burnt fingers.

"I want to help you, Arthur." Alfred declared. Matthew retreated and let his brother take over. Arthur looked up, confusion evident in his expression.

"You what?"

"I'm not gonna take you to prison. I don't think you're a bad guy, you've just got problems."

Arthur chuckled, dispelling the tension in both his and Alfred's shoulders. "Well, that is certainly true. I have many problems." His green eyes softened, though they still flickered nervously. "Well...thank you, I suppose." He said, then looked over to where Matthew stood. He had taken off his coat and put it away, folded in his backpack and Arthur visibly relaxed. "And you too. I'm sorry...that wasn't a very good first impression. I haven't had many...good experiences with white coats, you see."

Almost reluctantly, Arthur walked up to Matthew, though obviously fighting the urge to flee. He extended a hand, which Matthew gladly accepted, but something squirmed in his stomach as he touched the scarred flesh. "I'm Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew...?"

"Williams." He said smiling. "Matthew Williams."

They broke apart, both smiling though Arthur's seemed slightly forced. The tips of his fingers were trembling again.

"Hey, don't I get a handshake, Artie?" Alfred asked, forcing his way in-between the two. Both males on the other side of him rolled their eyes. "It's not fair if Mattie gets one and I don't!"

Sighing heavily, Arthur extended a hand which Alfred began to shake furiously before it was quickly snatched away by Arthur. His hands were at his chest and he looked down at them, eyes shocked but wincing.

"Still hurts..." Arthur whispered to himself. Before looking up slightly, going slightly red. "Do you-" He began, before clearing his throat and speaking up, realising that his voice was still a hoarse whisper. "Do you mind if...if I borrow some gloves, perhaps?"

He hated asking for things and went redder, hiding his ruined hands behind his back, embarrassed and angry at them for taking the bandages away and angry at himself for _letting_ them be taken away.

Matthew realised and nodded. "I-I'll go get them." He stammered and left quickly.

Alfred knew people thought he was stupid, that he couldn't read the atmosphere. And he couldn't, not really, not most of the time, but you_ really_ had to be an idiot if you couldn't tell that Arthur was upset. He came closer to the small man, touching his shoulder lightly.

"Why don't you have a shower, ok?" Alfred said, softly. Arthur looked up. Then the hero grinned. "You really stink!"

Arthur scowled and walked away, but it was true and he knew it. He walked to the door and was about to walk through when,

"It's over there Artie!"

"It's not Artie!" Arthur cried before storming over to the other door and walking in, before slamming it shut and clicking the lock. The sound of artificial rain arrived quickly, accompanied by sighs of relief.

Alfred leaned against the door briefly and shouted through the wood, "I'll get you some clothes. I'm burning your old ones!"

"Fuck you!" Came the reply and Alfred left quickly before bursting into laughter.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

**Author's note:** I AM SO SORRY! To anyone who actually reads this or any other of my stories. I can't believe I went so long without updating T^T I am such a bad person, especially when I got all these lovely reviews! The only excuse I can give is family troubles, not even school, 'cause I'm on holiday. It's not a proper excuse really, so feel free to complain as much as you like to me. And concerning future updates, there probably won't be one for a while as I STILL have to update my other stories, and I'm going to be visiting Romano on Friday for a week, to go see Pompeii, Herculaneum and other Roman bits and bobs on my school Latin trip. I'll also be walking up his giant ZIT (i.e. Mt. Vesuvius) and I am very excited about it all. HOWEVER, this also means I will not be able to write a thing while I'm there.

Anyone recognise that alphabet which Artie's tattoo is written in? It's pretty easy actually, you'll probably all know it. Oh an I'll reveal the meaning later, not sure when but yeh. Unless you just look it up on GoogleTranslate but...THAT'S CHEATING .

I had difficulty writing this. It all seemed all unrealistic and just bleh, but now I'm pleased with it :) But, Christ, Canada was dull to write. I don't know, I just don't like writing him, even though I quite like him. Sorry Canada fan :

And gosh, so many brilliant reviews! The artist formerly known as, Miniflip999, Skadiyoko, MelodyOfStarshine, Alphine, Sam and princesspug, I love you all. I also love anyone who read & liked or anyone who favourited me or the story. But I love the reviewers especially. I'm glad that you guys though that my Alfred sounded American.

Skadiyoko, I will try to incorporate one of those pairings into the story if I can find somewhere to introduce the characters. I'm kinda making this up as I go along, so I'm not sure which characters will actually appear and where (apart from a certain Frenchman and Russian). I like Blue Star because, as you said, patriotic names get boring -_- I hope you recover from your shank wound *glares at England*

The artist formerly known as, Angel thingy Arthur is awesome sauce.

Thanks again, for reading and reviewing, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Oh yeah, I'm also still accepting Alfred superhero name suggestions, and also pairing suggestions. For the superhero names, I'll probably make a poll or something on my account and the people who actually read this can vote between the ones people have submitted and a few of my own :3 I might also do that with a few pairings, but later, when I actually figure out where this story is going.

And I almost forgot the disclaimer. Arthur Kirkland, Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams all belong to Himaruya Hidekaz, sadly. Not to me. *sobs*

(Christ, those Author's Notes were long...)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

"Uh...Alfred?"

The blue-eyed man turned to see an embarrassed looking Arthur standing small in the doorway, arms hung unnaturally at his sides. The blonde man's green orbs flickered quickly away when met by Alfred's own and Arthur's glove clad hand reached up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck.

"Yeah?" Alfred responded cheerily as he looked up at the other man.

Arthur brushed a now clean strand of hair out of his yes.

"Do you...have any, um...smaller clothes, by any chance?" The short man asked, his face flushing as he tugged on one end of the oversized t-shirt. "Yours are a bit too...well, a bit too _big_, really."

Alfred laughed before getting up from the kitchen table and moving over to the counter.

"Sorry man, that's the smallest I have. You want some coffee?"

Arthur gave a little twitch but the pinkness of his face began to subside, returning to a normal colour.

"_Do_ you want some coffee," He corrected, folding his arms across his thin chest. "And no thank you, I'm fine without." Arthur's eyes quickly scanned the American, taking in the gaudy clashing colours and shoddy needlework. "What on _earth _are you wearing?"

"Oh this?" Alfred looked down at himself, then back up at Arthur and grinning. He poured himself a cup of coffee. "It's my superhero costume. Pretty cool, right?"

The Briton didn't answer but frowned and started circling the bespectacled blonde, expression critical. Alfred noticed his piercing gaze and shifted uncomfortably, taking a nervous sip from his coffee.

"It's full of holes." Arthur commented, poking various bits of Alfred's body, pointing out where each little rip and tear was. "The stitching is coming undone, and the elastic is about to come off your mask." Arthur said, brow furrowed and he pulled it back and let go, causing the bad to snap painfully at the back of Alfred's head.

"Oww, Artiieeee." The hero whined, a hand leaping up to rub the back of his head. "Why'd ya do that?"

"Why are you wearing it anyway?" The Brit asked, ignoring Alfred's original question and returning to the table, taking a seat.

Alfred sighed and sat down opposite Arthur, taking a long drink from his mug and perking up slightly.

"I've got to go out and train tonight. You know, walk around town, make sure everything's ok, maybe catch a criminal or two." He gave a weak smile and sniffed the steaming liquid, relishing the scent. "Coffee really helps."

Arthur noticed how heavy the bags under Alfred's eyes were, partially hidden by his glasses. The man's hair was dishevelled from a long day and his sky blue eyes were lidded.

"You're tired." Arthur pointed out.

"No...I'm not." Alfred protested slowly, trying to stifle a yawn while doing so.

"You are." Arthur said firmly, taking the coffee from the younger man, ignoring his feeble 'hey' and quickly tipping it down the sink with a blank face, watching while the dark drink drained away. "Go to bed. I'll fix your costume, and then...then I'll be off, I suppose."

"Can't," Alfred replied, shaking his head stubbornly. "People need my help," He got up but the winged man was quicker and shoved him back down into the seat, gloved hands surprisingly firm on Alfred's broad shoulders.

"The world won't end if you're absent from your 'duties' for one night."

Alfred groaned and fell forward, pulling off his mask and resting his forehead on the cool plastic of the table. "Fine." He was defeated and he knew it. Arthur's lips twisted into a smug smile and he sat back, arms folded over his chest. "But... I was wondering." Alfred looked awkward and uneasy.

"...Go on..."

"Mattie said something...when you were passed out. Now, don't get mad, we're just worried, but... are you currently, y'know, living anywhere, Arthur?"

The man visibly stiffened. "O-of course I am, you dolt." Arthur lied badly.

"Stay here for a while. 'Till you get back on your feet, OK?"

"No...I can't. I won't. I won't live off someone else's support and I _don't _need your help. I don't...I don't like staying in the same place for too long anyway."

"Come on Artie, it won't do you any harm. If it really bothers you, why don't you consider fixing my suit payment? You sew it up, make it all nice and shiny, and you can stay here for the night." Alfred's bright smile faltered when he saw that his proposal wasn't really working, Arthur's face grim. "Fine, it's part of the conditions then. If you don't want to go down to the station, you stay here with me. So I can keep an eye on you, make sure you're not really a super evil villain."

Arthur's mouth dropped open in complaint, before snapping shut again and the small man scowled, realising what the American was saying.

"Fine." He said grumpily. "But not for long. Now give me your suit so I can get to work on it."

Alfred grinned. "You won't regret this, Artie!" He said excitedly, beginning to pull his tight shirt over his head. He didn't notice the Briton before him turning once again a bright red. "I promise ya! And heroes don't break their promises!" After that, he slid out of his trousers and stood in the middle of the kitchen, only in his Star Spangled boxers. His smile dropped as he noticed the flaming Brit, green eyes wide and averted, one hand on the side of his head, as if to shield Alfred from his view.

"Something wrong, Artie?"

"I-it's Arthur, you git, and put some clothes on!" He spluttered, obviously outraged. "It's indecent!"

Alfred laughed at the flustered man, quickly picking up his outfit and chucking it at Arthur, before running off. "Thanks Artie!"

The Briton sighed as he watched Alfred leave the room, blush slowly fading.

_That boy_, he thought, while shaking his head, _really is oblivious. _He sighed again. _What have I gotten myself into?_

He picked up the discarded suit, shaking off a bit of dirt before smoothing it over his hand to inspect the full damage. After identifying at least seven small holes and a slightly ripped seam, Arthur collected some thread and a needle. A sudden pain, like a jabbing needle, poked at the back of his neck a second later, followed by another sharp pain in his finger as he accidentally stabbed the digit. He gasped, the needle falling to the floor as one hand flew up to the back of his neck and the other to his lips, poking the wounded finger into his mouth. Arthur tenderly removed the finger and winced as he pressed his thumb against the tiny puncture, watching as the blood welled into a miniature crimson droplet, and his fingers rubbed against the mark on the back of his neck. He frowned, biting the side of his cheek. He had a feeling about this, and it wasn't a good one.

The American yawned, stretching his arms out wide and standing on the tips of his toes as he stood in the doorway.

"Morning, Art." Alfred said, as he strolled in, taking a seat at the table opposite the Briton.

Arthur looked up briefly from his newspaper, before returning his eyes back to it.

"Good morning. I hope you don't mind but I helped myself to some of your cereal." He gestured to the half eaten bowl of Lucky Charms that sat, now soggy on the table, marshmallows shoved to one side. "I'm not a great fan. Rather too sweet for me. And too multicoloured."

"Woooow, Artie! This looks great!" The American exclaimed, picking up his folded suit and holding it up in front of him. "All the holes are gone and everything!" He slung it over the back of his chair before picking up the piece of paper that sat in front of him. "What's this?"

"A schedule. I called Matthew this morning – he left his telephone number – and asked him about your working life." Arthur looked up, a small smile on his lips. "A comic artist, eh? To be honest, I didn't think of you as the creative type. Anyway, that's beside the point. I decided to organise your day a little better so that you can actually get some sleep at night, instead of staying up to train."

"Huh? Cool! Thanks, Artie! Man, you're really good at this sort of thing, aren't ya? You're like some, I dunno, super awesome secretary or something!"

Arthur's smile disappeared at the comment and he returned to reading the paper with a humph.

The hero grinned and grabbed Arthur's discarded cereal (there was no point in letting it go to waste, after all) and a spoon, beginning to munch the rest, taking special relish in the tiny marshmallows. Alfred looked up and noticed a steaming cup of coffee sitting in front of him, and then at Arthur, questioningly. The smaller man, glanced upwards.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I made that for you. I hope you like your coffee black and with a lot of sugar."

"Dude, how did you guess? Thanks, man!" Alfred took a long gulp of the drink, before freezing.

"Uh, Alfred?"

The man settled the cup down slowly, wide smile still strained upon his lips, and Arthur saw Alfred's Adams apple bob, up and down as he swallowed the drink.

Suddenly, he started choking.

"Alfred!" Arthur yelped, alarmed, as the American man started retching, hand on his chest, the other clutching the table so hard that his fingers were denting the plastic. He leapt up; stumbling to the sink before twisting the taps until water came pouring out in violent streams. Cupping his hands, Alfred gathered the liquid and chugged it down as quickly as he could, giving a loud burp after doing so.

"Artie...Are you trying to kill me?" The bespectacled blonde panted angrily as he leant against the counter. "That coffee was full of salt!"

"S-salt?" The Briton looked genuinely surprised and Alfred started to feel his anger dwindle down. "I thought that was sugar... I'm sorry..." Arthur collapsed back into his chair, head in hands. "Why can't I do anything right?"

"Uh, no, that's not what I meant! You can definitely do stuff right, really right! Uh, in fact, this coffee actually looks really nice! I bet it would be if you had, y'know, actually used sugar, but..." Alfred looked down at the cup. Now that he looked at it, he realised that the drink looked like complete shit. "It would be totally cool if you could make it again! I'd really drink it too!"

The British man looked up, dejection slowly slipping from his face. "Really?"

"Uh, sure!" There was no way in Hell. Note to self: Do not let Arthur unaccompanied into the kitchen. "Anyways, I'm gonna go to work now, Artie, so, yeah! Seeya later, then!" Alfred got up, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder and quickly grabbing a banana for the journey.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah, that's OK, right? I can stay if you want-" Alfred said, peeling the banana and biting off the end of the fruit.

"-No! No, go, that's fine. How long will you be gone?" Arthur cracked a smile.

"Uh, I dunno, I'll probably be back by this evening. I get off work early today, so I thought I'd fit in a little training. Anyways, gotta run, bye Artie!" Alfred opened the door and grinned, discarding the banana skin on the counter, having finished it already.

"Bye." The Briton picked the skin delicately from the tabletop between gloved fingers and chucked it in the bin. "See you soon."

The door slammed shut. Arthur turned back to the table, picking up the empty bowl and dropping it into the sink to be washed up later. He then picked up the cereal box, when he saw Alfred's mask lying on the table.

_Twat's forgotten it. _He mused to himself, smiling slightly. He walked over to the window, and down onto the streets far below, where Alfred was just emerging from the building. He leant forward, over the kitchen sink, and pulled the screeching window up, and he stuck his head out and waved to the man below.

"Oi! You've forgotten something!"

Alfred looked up, and his mouth formed an o shape before he beamed. "Oh! Oh yeah! Thanks Artie, I'll come up and get it!"

"No, don't bother, I'll just run down and give it to you."

Arthur backed away from the window, grabbing the mask from the table and hurrying to the door, before running out and down the stairs. He had to stop and catch his breath for a moment halfway down the long flight of steps (he wasn't sure how Alfred got down so quickly without needing a break, but maybe his powers had something to do with it), before he continued and came out the door. Alfred was waiting for him, and his face lit up.

"Thanks Artie!"

He took the mask, about to stuff it in his rucksack, when he felt alarm bells clashing in the back of his head and he span round.

"Alfred? What's wro-"

Alfred was knocked to the ground, gasping loudly as a wave of heat passed rippling over his head and the sound reached his ears. The explosion sent him reeling, ears ringing painfully, and he clenched his teeth as he turned around. Rubble was scattered everywhere, all over the street as a block of flats opposite burned, smoke billowing from the thick flames and making his eyes water. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking it, and he turned again, seeing Arthur, covered in dirt and looking very panicked but seemingly okay. His lips were moving, frantically, but Alfred could not hear a thing. He blinked and suddenly, sound came rushing back to him.

"-fred? Alfred! Are you alright? You're bleeding!"

Alfred wiped a hand across his forehead and found that his friend was right, the liquid welling thick on a wound on his head. He looked at it for a while dazedly, and coughed.

The sound of cracking fire, crackling from the blaze nearby hit him next, sirens wailing close by. Then, finally, the sound of a piercing scream reached his ears.

Alfred, upon hearing those desperate pleads for help, jumped to his feet, stumbling slightly at first and started running shakily to the flaming building.

"Alfred, don't!"

He ignored the shout, wiping the grime from his glasses as he sprinted. The heat grew, searing his face and causing him to break into a sweat, but Alfred ignored the growing warmth, continuing on his way. By now, the whole construction was burning rapidly, and giving out impossibly loud groans. Creaking as the tongues of flame slowly licked away at its structure. It was not a good sign. Alfred had seen the films; he knew he had to be in and out as quickly as possible before the building collapsed completely, trapping both him and any other survivors inside.

"Alfred, don't!" Arthur cried, reaching out towards him in clichéd manner, before he stopped himself.

He felt the urge to go after the American, but something was holding him back and he knew what it was. The Briton looked at his gloved hands, scarred hands and shook his head. They were trembling, and he couldn't stop it, as much as he tried. His blood pounded furiously, and suddenly his hands clenched into fists.

_I'm such a coward._ Arthur's eyes squeezed shut, and as much as he willed it to move, his body remained completely rigid. _Why can't I help? Why am I _so_ damn useless?_

Alfred bent over double, coughing and eyes streaming as he walked into a cloud of smoke. He forced himself upright and listened, trying to hear shouts above the roaring flames that surrounded. But he could hear nothing.

_Dammit, dammit, superpowers, come one, the one time I actually _need _you-_

There was the sound of loud sobbing, coming from upstairs and Alfred sprinted towards it, his speed quickening, faster than any normal human could run. Finally, Alfred came to the door, behind which he could hear the cries coming from. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door down and burst in, eyes scanning the smoke filled room.

"Hello?"

"Help!" There were faint cries coming from another room, along with the sound of heavy coughing. "Please!"

"I'm coming!" Alfred shouted above the sound of the blaze. "Hold on a little longer!"

Alfred followed the noise to an open door, and he ran in. A teenager and a terrified little girl stayed on the bed in the middle of the room, both wrapped in soaked sheets to stop the flames from getting them.

"Is there anyone else in the building? Where's your mother?" Alfred asked urgently, scooping up the girl in his arms and grabbing the teenager, pulling him towards the window.

The boy's eyes were wide, scared and he nodded.

"No...No, there's no one else. Everyone got out or has already been rescued. Mom's out, shopping."

"Okay, now, I'm going to grab you both and jump down, alright?"

The little girl nodded, silver tracks worn into her grime stained face as tears still leaked from her eyes. The teenager was not so sure.

"Are you crazy? You'll be killed-"

"Trust me."

The boy stared at him for a long while before swallowing slowly and nodding. Alfred grinned and gripped him in his arms while pressing the little girl to his shoulder, before climbing out of the window, sitting on the windowsill before jumping down. Alfred landed with a grunt, impact jarring him and knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"Mom!" The teenage boy called out ripping himself from Alfred's arms and dragging his sister with him. He ran towards her, before being wrapped around by her arms.

"Thomas! Emily!" The woman cried, tears of relief beginning to flow down her puffy cheeks. "You're alright! You're alright!"

Alfred turned quickly to leave, not wanting to interrupt the happy reunion.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Alfred stopped in his tracks, before smiling softly to himself, pride at what he had done slowly welling up in himself. For the first time in his unofficial career, he felt like a hero.

**Author's note:** Hello. Once again, this is rather late, so I apologise to anyone who was waiting. I have finally run out of excuses, having arrived back from Italy ages ago. Um, what can I say, the dog ate my laptop?

Anyways, what did you think of this chapter? I know the rescuing from a burning building is awfully cliché but...yeah. Stop judging me.

Well, anyone who guessed Russian, or more accurately, Cyrillic, for Arthur's tattoo, you were correct. And for those of you who looked up the translation, well, I changed it slightly anyway because I thought that the English translation sounded a bit off, but it has a similar meaning.

I've decided to put a poll up where you guys can vote for Alfred's superhero name. The options are Blue Star (credit to Skadiyoko), The Shining Titan (courtesy of princesspug), Justice and Star Sergeant. So go and vote on my account. Do it, do it now!

Thanks again to everyone who favourited or read, especially fujikawaii10346, alguien22792, Alphine, DestinyShiva, BakaRamenBowl, M'aria' Kirkland, The artist formerly known as, Argle, .Glaciers, Miniflip999 and kakita101 for all the great reviews! I've got over twenty already, which, by my standards, is amazing! I'm so happy that you guys liked it. I've also discovered the easiness of PMing to reply to reviews, instead of writing them all down here. Especially useful, as I am getting more reviews these days :D

Anyway, thanks for reading! And Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

Snow flaked like a bad case of dandruff from the night sky above, smothering Sanctum City in a freezing blanket that immobilised most its inhabitants. The roads lay thick with uncleared snow, and the city was unusually quiet, the empty streets lacking the usual blare of traffic and jostling streams of people as the weather forced people indoors to escape the snow.

Two young men were crunching down one of these streets, shoulders hunched as they walked straight into the full force of the flurry, snowflakes battering their cold faces. Abruptly, one stopped, facing the other angrily.

"This is stupid! You've got us lost, you dolt!" He exclaimed violently, tucking his gloved hands into his armpits. "I can't believe you. I mean, honestly, you _live_ in this damned city and you don't have a clue where we are, do you?"

"Of course I do! It's just, er, well, a bit dark and the snow _is_ really thick..."

The other's lips tightened and he started walking away.

"I'm going back."

"C'mon, Artie, we're nearly there!" Alfred pleaded desperately.

Sighing, Arthur stopped and continued on with the American, frowning at the floor.

"I still don't think it's a good idea." Arthur declared grumpily. "How do you know you can trust this man? He could easily be tricking you...and besides, his name sounds French."

"Artie, chill man, it'll be fine."

"How did you meet this man anyway?"

"Rescued him from a mugger." Alfred said nonchalantly, as if this was something perfectly normal. "He eyed up my costume, and gave me his card."

They walked on in silence. Alfred stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. Arthur looked at the taller man.

"Are you cold?" He asked, looking slightly concerned as Alfred pulled his thin jacket further around his shoulders and gave a quick shiver.

"I can handle it." Alfred replied, cheerily, before shivering even more.

Sighing, Arthur stopped, unwrapping the scarf that Matthew had kindly lent him from his own neck.

"Artie, whatcha doin'?"

"Come here, you big oaf." Arthur said softly, not meeting Alfred's puzzled gaze.

Still thoroughly confused, Alfred did as he was told, stepping forward. The smaller man began fastening the scarf around the other one's neck, and for once, Alfred was silent. Arthur glanced up at Alfred, their eyes meeting briefly before the Brit looked away again, looking a little shocked at himself by what he had done.

"...I could've done it myself, y'know." Alfred said quietly once Arthur was done, the green-eyed man's hands resting on his chest. "But... thanks anyway."

Arthur looked at his hands, a shocked look coming over his face, and abruptly pulled them away, face reddening. "You wouldn't have accepted it." He began walking forward. "Besides, it's not like I did it for you." He sounded uncertain about this. "I just...I don't want to catch a cold off you or something." He flushed even more, picking up his pace to hide his blush.

Alfred smiled to himself before it promptly fell off his face at the sight of the disappearing Englishman. "Hey...Hey Artie!" He started jogging to catch up with the Brit who was proving to be very fast for his small stature. "Artie, wait up!"

They arrived at a large, modern building, all steel and glass. Stylish cars were parked on the streets opposite.

"Are you sure this is it?" Arthur asked, looking uncertainly up at the tall building.

Alfred stared down at the ivory business card that had been given to him, eyeing up the address.

"Yep." He said, finally. "I'm pretty sure."

They entered the building. The interior, like the outer building, was modern. The scarce furniture was tasteful and looked incredibly comfortable. At a large desk at the end of the room was a receptionist, a pretty, fashionable looking young woman who was on the phone, taking down notes. Making their way through the bustling streams of people that were running around, some on their mobiles, others carting racks of clothes to waiting elevators, many carrying paperwork, but all looking very well dressed, and very busy. The two men came up to the desk, feeling very out of place.

The receptionist looked up after placing the phone down with a gushing 'thank you and goodbye'.

"Can I help you?" She asked impatiently, eyeing the two men with disdain as she noticed their cheap clothing.

"Uh," Alfred's voice came out in a squeak, before he cleared his throat and began again, "Um, we're here to see..." He looked back down at the business card. "Mr. Francis Bonnefoy."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm supposing you're Mr. Jones then, yes?"

Alfred nodded, but frowned slightly. How did they know his name? The woman picked up the phone, quickly dialled a number and pressed it to her ear. Alfred and Arthur stood in silence.

"Hello? Mei? Yes, Mr. Jones has arrived. Yes, as quickly as possible. Thank you." And she hung up.

"Mr. Bonnefoy's personal assistant will be down to escort you to his office in just a moment." And with that, the phone rang, ending their brief one-sided conversation. Alfred looked uncertainly at Arthur, who glared back.

A slim, beautiful Asian girl wearing oriental inspired clothing touched Alfred's shoulder. Her long hair fell in one dark sheet, crisply cut, with an elegant pink flower clipped at the side of her head. Her small rosy mouth was set in a smiling face and thick lashes surrounded her striking eyes.

"Mr. Jones?" She asked, giving a bright smile. When he nodded, her smile widened even further. She looked at Arthur. "I'm sure Mr. Bonnefoy won't mind a guest. Please follow me."

They walked briskly to a lift and the doors slid closed. After a while, Arthur broke the silence.

"How long is this going to take?" He asked gruffly.

"Ah, Mr..."

Arthur looked a bit hesitant before replying. "Kirkland."

"Mr. Kirkland. Mr. Bonnefoy's office is at the top of the building, you see, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

As if to prove her right, the doors opened with a ding, revealing a very empty floor, contrasting majorly to the hustle and bustle of the workplace below. This floor was more heavily furnished, comfortable chairs and sofas wherever they turned. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls and vases of flowers, mainly red roses were conveniently placed in corners and by doors. Finally, after going through an empty labyrinth of abandoned hallways and rooms, they reached a last door, where Mei turned to them, beaming.

"This is Mr. Bonnefoy's office." She knocked on the door before cracking it open, "Mr. Bonnefoy, Mr. Jones has arrived...he's brought a guest."

"Ah, _bon!_ Bring them in, _ma Cherie_." An unmistakably French voice wafted through the door. A

Arthur groaned to himself and they followed Mei in. At a desk in the middle of the room sat a well-dressed man, casually leaning back in his chair. His wavy golden hair was cut just above his shoulders and his dark blue eyes flickered up towards the visitors. Golden stubble adorned his chin, and immediately, Arthur found him annoying. He jumped up and smiled, greeting Alfred with a firm handshake.

"Alfred," He said, blinking slowly with slightly devious smile. "I'm so glad you have finally come."

He then approached Arthur, who considered leaving then and there, but decided to stay for Alfred's sake. "And what," He began, bending down kiss Arthur's gloved hand. "Might your name be?"

Arthur tore his hand from the Frenchman's grasp and huffed, ignoring the chuckle and the quick wink he received as he averted his eyes. Alfred frowned. Finally he turned to his personal assistant and gently kissed both of her cheeks in greeting, giving her a sensual smile and earning a quick blush from the girl.

"Mei, _ma belle fleur,_ thank you. Now leave me to tend to my guests, _s'il vous plait._"

"Yes, Mr. Bonnefoy." The girl said pleasantly. "Is there anything else you would like? Coffee, wine-"

"Ah, _non, ma Cherie_, we're fine." Mei turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. "But please, Mei, I have told you many times. Call me Francis."

The girl blushed and hurried out. Francis sighed heavily.

"She's such a wonderful girl, isn't she? And so young too." He turned to the two men. "Now Alfred, I suppose you're wondering why I invited you here, _non_?"

Alfred nodded. "And how the hell do you know my name?"

The Frenchman laughed, earning a glare from Arthur. "Being the owner of an extremely successful fashion company has its perks, _mon cher_. But do not worry, I won't tell." He turned around and winked t Alfred. "You saved my money yesterday. Probably my life, _aussi_. I am grateful." He started walking towards a wall and placing a hand on it, extended the other towards Alfred.

"Take my hand."

"What?"

"Don't be an annoying American and just take it. You should probably grab your grumpy little British friend too if you don't want him to be left behind."

Alarmed, Alfred grabbed a swearing Arthur who was trying to storm out, and dragged him towards Francis, where he reluctantly took the man's hand. Francis closed his eyes and pressed against the wall and a strange sensation of weightlessness passed through Alfred's body and they suddenly were falling, all three of them.

Immediately shoving Francis away, Alfred instinctively pulled Arthur towards him. They tumbled to the floor, Alfred grunting as he slammed into the ground. Groaning, he opened his eyes to see Arthur's bright pink face right next to his, so close they were practically touching and his green eyes were wide. His arms were wrapped protectively around the Brit's waist. They lay on the floor, Arthur pressed on top of him for about a minute before he made a gargled choking sort of sound and pushed himself off Alfred's chest, scrambling up almost instantly. Alfred also jumped up, face going red and even more so as they saw Francis's raised eyebrow and knowing smirk.

"Git." Arthur muttered, folding his arms.

There was a long silence.

"Wait...we're in a different room!"Alfred exclaimed, apparently having just noticed the change.

Francis looked at him incredulously and Arthur sighed, massaging his temples.

The room they had entered was unlike the last. It was much darker (until Francis clapped, lighting up the whole area) and materials were heaped in shelves on the walls. Mannequins with unfinished outfits stood around the room, along with at least three different sewing machines, safety pins, needles of different sizes and spools of thread. But the odd thing was that there were no doors.

"How..."Alfred trailed off.

"You've got powers." Arthur stated, frowning. "What can you do, frog?"

"Walk through walls." The flirtatious man replied. "Don't look so surprised, my dear Alfred, just because you are the only one in this city who showcases their powers doesn't mean that you are the only one with them. Most of us just like to be more...discreet. I can see through walls too. In fact, I can see through quite a lot of things." And he gave Arthur a smirk, eyeing him up and down with suddenly much lighter blue eyes, the pupils disappeared to practically nothing. Alfred looked confused, but Arthur snarled and moved his hands to cover himself, his blush once again returning.

"Stop looking at me like that, you god-forsaken pervert."

"Wings? Hmm, how interesting..."

Alfred realised what the Frenchman was doing, his face darkened and he moved in front of Arthur.

"Dude, stop it, not cool!"

The Frenchman glanced at Alfred, sighed and his eyes returned to normal. "Ah. I see. You two are...well, I shall not get involved." And Francis turned away, ignoring Arthur's outraged spluttering. "Well, Alfred, I would like to thank you. And I think the best possible way would be to make you a new suit. You current one is flashy, and not in a good way, and horribly designed."

"Hey man, I made that myself-"

"-And that is why it is awful. I have worked in the fashion industry now for seven years since I was nineteen. Let me handle this. I am a rich man now, I am able to supply you with many gadgets that I know for a fact you are unable to afford. It is the least I can do."

"But-"

"No buts. I have already made up my mind. I will have it delivered to your apartment by next week. But first, I need my measurements."

"Huh?"

Francis took out a measuring tape and grinned.

Every day when Alfred returned from training, he would wait patiently for ten minutes by the door for the suit to arrive before getting bored and giving up in favour of bothering Arthur. When it did arrive, both men were very much in shock. The doorbell was rung and instead of a small box or parcel like he was expecting, four racks of clothes were shoved into the tiny apartment. A handwritten note was taped to the first and Arthur ripped it open, rolling his eyes at the cursive script that was so typically French and began reading.

"Alfred and _mon cher_ Arthur, after you two left I couldn't help but despair over your terrible clothing and decided to do you a favour. I've picked out the most fashionable clothes I could find (all from my own fabulous line, of course), two racks for each of you, they're labelled. You can just go ahead and burn your old clothes now, this is all you will ever need again! But moving on, your suit is in a protective jacket at the end of the rack. Blah, blah, some shit about _amour_ and...He's made me a suit too."

"What? That's so cool, Artie!"

Arthur grunted. Obviously he didn't agree. He chucked the letter in the bin. Alfred went straight for the suit, ignoring the rest of the clothes hangers and practically ripped it open, while Arthur started going through his racks of clothes. The frog has surprisingly nice taste.

"My God, these clothes must be worth thousands of dollars." Arthur muttered to himself. He glanced at Alfred and almost fell backwards. "Christ, Alfred, what have I told you about stripping publicly? It's inappropriate!"

Ignoring the embarrassed Brit, Alfred shimmied the suit over his boxers, feeling the slinky material smooth up against his muscles.

"Why don't you try yours on?" Alfred asked.

"No."

"Aw please!"

"No."

Accepting defeat, Alfred looked at the note accompanying it, stating that the material would always keep him the right temperature, it could be cleaned easily and was quite strong, resisting wear and tear, but if the material did get damaged, it told Alfred to feel free to visit any time for repairs. A mask accompanied it and unlike his last, did not need an elastic strap but fitted right onto his face and over his eyes, and lenses had already been built in, much to his delight. He strapped on a belt, surprised by its weight and fingered the various pods and gadgets that were in it. He couldn't wait to test them all out. Finally he pulled on the gloves and boots that were tucked away in a box. He turned to Arthur.

"So, how do I look?" He grinned, facing the smaller man.

Arthur flushed as he stared, dumbfounded at the American. The suit clung tightly to his body, showing off his numerous muscles and... Other areas. Arthur gazed at Alfred's strong looking arms and his muscular chest and well defined abs before noting his well built legs. Alfred looked hopelessly attractive. His gaze flickered over to Alfred's behind before he wrenched himself away.

_What am I doing?_ Arthur blushed violently, burying himself in the racks of clothes. _Stop being so stupid, Arthur..._

"It looks fine." He snapped, trying not to feel guilty as he noticed Alfred, wearing that kicked puppy look. He sighed, coming out and looking at the other man, who was trying not to look hurt, and failing. "Alfred, I'm sorry. I'll try in the costume if you like." He said, hoping to urge a smile onto Alfred's face. It was unnerving to see him upset.

He brightened up instantly, as if his feelings had never been hurt at all.

Alfred pressed his head against the door, whining into the wood. "Come ooooon, Artie." He complained. "I wanna see."

"No! I refuse to come out like this!" Came Arthur's distressed voice from within the bathroom. "I look...I look ridiculous!"

"Arthur, you promised!"

"I most certainly did not, you liar!" There was a long silence. "...I'm coming out."

Alfred grinned and stepped back. Arthur slowly crept out, looking very uncomfortable and absolutely mortified with himself. Alfred's mouth dropped. Arthur was dressed in a white toga, cut off a few inches above the knee, exposing Arthur's long pale legs, surprisingly feminine. The fabric was gathered and fastened at his left shoulder by a silver clasp, the material hanging under his right arm, revealing a wide expanse of Arthur's creamy chest. The young man looked angelic, his white wings flapping slightly and curling around his shoulders.

"Stop staring." Arthur muttered, pulling the toga down at the hem, trying to cover himself more but only succeeding in revealing a nipple pert from the cold.

"I-I...uh..." Alfred fell silent, and he could feel his own face burning.

"I'm getting changed." Arthur said, turning to rush back into the bathroom, just as Alfred noticed a note taped to the back of the hem (because he really wasn't just staring at Arthur's ass as he walked out, nope, definitely not).

"Wait, Arthur! There's...a note, or something. Attached to the back of your...err your...y'know."

Arthur stopped and ripped the note off. His face, already pink, reddened even further as anger penetrated his features.

"That bloody frog!" He shouted, chucking the note on the ground and storming inside.

Alfred, licked his lips which had gone mysteriously dry and picked up the note, once again, from Francis.

_April Fools, mon cher Arthur~ Did you really think that this was your real suit? _Très jolie_, but impractical, though I had fun creating it. Your real suit is at the other end of the rack. This was just a gift for mon ami Alfred. Enjoy~_

_Francis._

Alfred stopped, and read it again. Did Francis think that...that they were together or something?

_Me and Arthur are just friends!_ Alfred thought desperately. _We are, aren't we?_ Alfred's thoughts found their way back to Arthur's amazing legs and ass before he shook his head, dispelling the image. _I'm not gay. _He thought firmly to himself, before his shoulders sagged. _Oh screw it, Alfred Franklin Jones, you're about as straight as a slinky._

Alfred had always been uncertain of his sexuality. Despite his good looks and bubbly personality, Alfred hadn't been on too many dates. As a teenager, he just hadn't been interested in girls, but that was okay. Until he started looking more and more at other boys. The whole period in general had been very confusing for him. From seventeen onwards, the age when he discovered his powers, he'd been far too busy with school, work and training to even think about chasing girls _or_ boys, especially since he had pledged to help pay Matthew's med school fees, despite his older brother's protests, even if the contribution each month was tiny. Girls had always approached Alfred and while he recognised they were pretty, he never really found himself attracted by any. He had tried to convince himself that maybe it was just because he hadn't found the right girl but he had known that it was untrue.

Alfred bit his lip. He found himself looking over his few memories shared with Arthur. He smiled as he remembered the scarf, and Arthur's fierce blush afterwards. _He really is kinda cute. I think I do like him...I like him a lot. But does he like me?_ He bit his lip._ Is Arthur even gay?_

Quietly, Alfred scrunched up Francis's note, silently blessing the perverted Frenchman while doing so as his thoughts lingered on Arthur and wrote one of his own.

_Going to Mickey D's to get some dinner. Don't try cooking; I don't want you setting fire to my stove again. I'll be back in half an hour._

Alfred needed some time to think.

**Author's note:** Oh God. People, I am unbelievably sorry. First I don't update for three months and then when I do, I give you a shitty chapter. Seriously. I'm such an awful person. I'm sorry, just bear with me. This chapter was necessary to give Alfred and Arthur proper super suits (I might post sketches of them later on my dA if I can be bothered. The link will be in a future chapter if I do), introduce France and develop their relationship. I'm sorry if it seemed weird, I haven't had much experience in this romance thing. I promise there'll be more action next chapter. I think I'm going to introduce Turkey (can you guess whether he'll be the good guy or the bad guy?) and there might be some delving into Alfred's (and possibly Arthur's) past.

I'm going on holiday in about a week, but I'm going to try and post again while I'm still in London and with the internets. Thanks so much to anyone who's been patiently waiting for this, I know it took forever. Also, an extra special thank you to all reviewers of the last chapter, including XionAmmy, fujikawaii10346, Miniflip999, Death-Sama01, HetashitsujiDEATH and cutekittenlady (if I've missed you out, please tell me). You're all amazing.

Lastly, the poll results are in! Thanks to all of you who voted and Alfred's chosen superhero name will be *drum roll*... Blue Star tops the poll with 45% of the votes! A round of applause to Skadiyoko who thought up of the name and thank you to princesspug, who also submitted a name. Now we're going to have to think up a name for Arthur, because yes, he will have a superhero part in this...I was thinking of just calling him Archangel. What do you think? If you have any suggestions, go ahead in a review or something and I'll make another poll.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

Alfred, sat on the other end of the bed, watching Arthur's back as he struggled to pull his t-shirt over his wings, spotting the tiny round scars that littered his stretch of milky skin and that mysterious tattoo on the back of his neck. He swallowed heavily, and his eyes flickered over them.

How had they gotten there?

Each scar was completely identical, and they looked a little like cigarette burns. Dotted randomly, especially around his lower back and spine, and some merged to form blotchy patches.

And then there was that weird tattoo. Alfred wondered what it meant, if anything at all. Some of the letters looked familiar, English almost, but most were completely new to him.

As Alfred stared, he began to notice what his brother had meant by thin. Arthur's ribs poked out from under his skin, constructing unhealthy ridges that dipped into his side, and he could see the long line of his backbone jutting slightly. Alfred squirmed, disturbing the person sitting on the other end of the bed.

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur caught Alfred looking and turned a few shades redder, a frown falling over his features.

"Go away." He said angrily, turning back to hide his face from the peeping American, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them, trying to stop himself from feeling so exposed and he huffed crossly. Matthew lingered over his patient, inspecting the practically healed wing in his hand as he held it gently.

Alfred looked up, also turning pink, before diverting his eyes, slightly ashamed as his brother stared hard at him, disapprovingly. Matthew mouthed something along the lines of 'you'll upset him, Al'.

"I-I...uh..." Alfred gave up trying to make an excuse and moved on. "Arthur..."

"What?" Came a snappish reply and Alfred shrank back slightly from the tone of Arthur's voice and the sharp glare that Matthew sent with it. Maybe this wasn't a good time to ask...

"Nothing."

"Try flexing it." Matthew instructed.

Arthur did so, lifting his stiffened wing and wincing, before dropping it back down. "It's painful." He declared; his hand lifted up to absentmindedly prod at the scab on his shoulder, only to be batted away.

"Don't pick." Matthew scolded, "You want it to heal, don't you?"

Arthur scowled, before letting the doctor examine his wing further, occasionally flinching and muttering quiet profanities under his breath as the doctor handled it, though he did it with light hands.

"It's healing nicely." Alfred's quiet brother said, letting go of the wing, much to Arthur's relief. "And perfectly functional, truth be told. I didn't expect it to heal this fast. But it'll still be stiff and painful for a while, so don't tire yourself out or you'll make it worse."

"How long will it be like this?" The Brit queried, letting his feet come done and placing them on the floor as he reached for his discarded t-shirt, slowly beginning to tug it back down over his head.

"Oh, I'd say... I don't know, I'd normally say about two to three weeks but if you keep getting better at the rate which you already have, it might only be about a week before your wing is completely comfortable again."

Arthur groaned overdramatically and began to massage his temples with gloved fingers, shoulders drooping. He adjusted his shirt grumpily, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his wings.

"What a bore." He grumbled, before composing himself to thank Matthew and wave him goodbye as he left for work.

Ever since the 'gift' from Francis had arrived four days earlier, Arthur had been acting strangely. He was more jittery and cautious than he usually was, and had barely talked to Alfred at all (much to his displeasure, of course) other than strained conversations over the kitchen table that usually ended with a sarcastic comment or annoyed remark from Arthur. The British man somehow managed to avoid Alfred completely in the small apartment when he was around and when he couldn't steer clear of the American, he wouldn't meet his eye, although Alfred had caught him staring at him multiple times.

Alfred didn't know what to do. Why was it that when he found out he liked someone, they immediately started ignoring him? Each time Arthur snubbed him, Alfred felt his hope die a little more.

Arthur watched Alfred enter the apartment and collapse into a chair at the kitchen table from behind his newspaper, the exhausted man immediately resting his head against his arms. It was not unusual for Alfred to be tired when he got home from training but Arthur was worried. The young American seemed so down lately. In those rare times that they did talk, Alfred stopped addressing him as 'Artie' (Arthur never thought he would've missed that accursed nickname, but he did), and at dinner he barely seemed to touch his McDonalds. Arthur swore that the annoying strand of hair that always stuck off Alfred's head had started drooping.

He felt guilt pool in his stomach. It was his fault that Alfred was having the blues. The poor boy was only trying his best to be friendly after all, but Arthur wouldn't let it get to him. Having come to a revelation four days ago that he was attracted to, and that he cared about Alfred, Arthur concluded that he had to stop it. It was the best for both of them. Arthur didn't want to get any closer to Alfred than he already was, knowing that he'd never be able to leave if he did. Arthur didn't like to stay in the same city, let alone the same apartment for too long. And he couldn't burden himself on the American any longer and though it pained him to see Alfred like this, Arthur withdrew, tucking his emotions away inside of him and replacing his feelings with an icy exterior.

Besides, it's not like Alfred would've ever liked someone like him anyway.

Another two days passed and nothing had changed. Alfred's initial upset had evolved into annoyance and further then into bitterness and anger. He didn't understand why Arthur was being like this. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? They were bickering too, having arguments over the pettiest things, but to Alfred it seemed as if Arthur was trying to wind him up just for the fun of it. The awkward conversations at supper had disappeared; silence only broken by the sound of chewing replaced them, while the two glared at each other from opposite seats.

It was after a particularly violent fight when Alfred stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind him that it forced it the wrong way, leaving it swinging broken on its hinges. He narrowly dodged one of his own comic books, having been hurtled his way by the raging Brit and left the building, tramping down the road and onto the main street. It was, on the whole, an unpleasant night, rain spitting down slowly but steadily, eventually soaking Alfred thoroughly. Angry, buzzing thoughts crowded the American's mind. Eventually, he stopped in front of the building he was looking for, quickly checking his pockets for money.

He needed a drink.

Arthur chucked the comic book as hard as he could at Alfred's head, swearing loudly as it missed him by an inch and slammed into the wall in front, flopping uselessly to the floor. He rubbed the angry tears from his eyes furiously, hating the fact that the younger American could affect him so much.

The fight had been a bad one. And Arthur had genuinely been trying to avoid an argument that night, seeing how worn out Alfred had been when he walked through the door.

But this was it. It was the perfect opportunity to leave.

Arthur rushed around the house, gathering the few possessions he owned (Francis' clothes didn't count and besides, it's not like Arthur could take a whole wardrobe with him). Returning to the kitchen and looking sadly down at the mess strewn all over the floor, wreckage from the fight, Arthur raided the cupboards, looking for some food to take with him. He was sure Alfred wouldn't mind.

While scanning the shelves, Arthur noticed something that he hadn't before, green eyes latching on to it. A dusty old bottle of whisky lay forgotten behind cans of baked beans and tinned SpagettiOs.

_I shouldn't. I really shouldn't._ Arthur thought guiltily, but then suddenly felt so heavy and depressed at the prospect of never seeing the cheerful American again that he reached for the bottle anyway. It was nothing special, just a average Scottish brand that Arthur had never heard of before. He poured the clear amber liquid into a glass and downed it at once. It was cheap enough to drink straight. Mellowing instantly as the alcohol created the familiar burning feeling in his throat, Arthur settled down at the table and poured himself another glass.

Alfred returned home in the very early morning, happier than he had felt in the entire week. He wasn't very drunk; he drank little that night and when he did, always diluted, but he enjoyed the company of those in the bar. He entered his flat, propping up a chair against the broken door behind him. Suddenly Alfred heard a noise coming from the kitchen and he froze. He had forgotten all about Arthur and felt a little guilty. Was he alright? Alfred jumped as he heard a sharp smash of glass ring through the apartment.

"Arthur!" He shouted, alarmed. He rushed into the kitchen and saw something he was not expecting to see.

Arthur was slumped over the table, unintelligible muttering streaming from his lips. His green eyes were hazy and heavily lidded, looking into nowhere, set in a beet red face. While one bare hand lay beneath his resting head, Arthur's other arm was dangling off the side of the table, holding a severely depleted bottle of whisky. His wings drooped over his shoulders, limp and lifeless with not even so much as a quick flap. A smashed shot glass lay on the floor, crystal shards scattered everywhere. Alfred bent over slightly. Arthur looked absolutely smashed and completely miserable, his eyes lined with red. The drunken man glanced up and upon seeing Alfred, scowled and stood up.

Well, _tried_ to stand up.

Alfred, who seemed completely sober in comparison, leapt forward to catch Arthur, whose hands were heading straight for the razor shards on the floor. The intoxicated man hung in Alfred's arms for about a minute, confused, before realising where he was and wriggling out of the American's grip.

Alfred sighed and grabbed the Englishman's wrists, beginning to drag him over to his bedroom. He would talk to Arthur about it in the morning when he was fully literate, but for now, he just needed to get the smaller man into bed and asleep, before he hurt himself.

"Wot...wotcha doin'?" Arthur's speech was completely slurred as he blinked slowly, an angry look beginning to creep onto his slack face. "Gerroff me!" He cried, trying to yank himself out of Alfred's stronger grip. "Leggo of me, blody wanker." He cursed, slowly.

"You're drunk." Alfred said brusquely. "I'm getting you to sleep."

Arthur managed to pull himself away, an indignant look on his face.

" 'M not drunk, you cocky lil' bashtard." He cried, obviously offended. "Gentlemen like me dun get drunk." He swayed slightly on his feet. "And I am perfectly incapable of finding my own bed, thank you very much! Ishn't tha' right, Minty?" He giggled upwards at this invisible 'Minty', and Alfred stared in awe at him. This guy was just full of surprises.

Suddenly Arthur swung round, stumbling his way across the room to the bathroom. Alfred followed, but the Brit was surprisingly fast for a drunkard and entered just in time to see Arthur tumble headfirst into the bathtub, grumbling about an uncomfortable bed. Though slightly amused, Alfred didn't want Arthur to hurt himself and so picked the smaller male up, slinging him over his shoulder. Arthur's fists thudded against his back, the tips of his feathers weakly brushing his cheek and Alfred chuckled.

"Noooo, let me down, you big...you big brute." Arthur insulted weakly, taking on the whiny tone of a child. "Puuut meee dooown."

Entering the bedroom, Alfred threw Arthur into the soft pillows of his bed, the red-faced man bouncing quite adorably on the springy mattress with a yelp. Alfred began tucking him into bed, ignoring his weak protests. He felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Alfy. Alfy Alfy-red. Where's Uni?" He asked, gazing at the ceiling.

"Uni?"

"Y'know. Uni...the unicorn..."

Smiling to himself, Alfred tuned to leave.

"Alfred, wait! D-don't go!" He sat up, clinging to the other male's arm. The relaxed look was gone and quickly turning to one of misery, but with a hint of fear in his glazed over eyes. "Please stay here!"

At the sight of Arthur's frightened face, Alfred sighed and turned back, allowing him to clutch onto his shirt (not that he really minded). "Art, what's wrong?"

"Please don't leave me here. I'm scared." Arthur's eyes went wet and he buried his face against Alfred's chest. "They're going to come find me. I don't want them to, Alfred. I don't want them to." He shook his head. "Stay here."

Alfred looked at Arthur, puzzled, the older man making little sense. "Arthur, no one's coming to get you-"

"Nooo, you don't know what it's like. Stay, stay, stay. Please stay." Arthur said again, desperate tone muffled by Alfred's shirt.

Alfred took another look at Arthur, face nuzzled against his warm chest and sighed. "Alright. I'm getting into bed, okay?"

The Englishman nodded, withdrawing. His eyes were already swollen and Alfred could feel a damp patch on his shirt. Alfred hurriedly took off his shoes and coat, getting into the bed himself and Arthur immediately rolled over to snuggle against Alfred's body.

"Don't," There was a yawn. "Don't let them get me, Alfred."

"I won't." He began stroking Arthur's soft, messy hair, gently untangling small knots with his fingers. He thought about Arthur's scarred back, his burnt hands. "I promise I won't." He closed his eyes only to open them a minute later, Arthur's larger greens staring straight into his affectionately.

"I like you." He said, softly, and managed to sound completely serious despite slurring. "Like, I 'like' like you."

Alfred's heart rate rose, even more so when Arthur leant over and gave him a light kiss on the mouth that left the fiery taste of whisky on his lips. Alfred was too speechless to say anything.

"'M sorry," Arthur mumbled, closing his eyes. "I've been 'orrible to you. But I had to!" His eyes snapped open and he clutched Alfred's face desperately with one of his hands, rubbing a scarred thumb over his cheek. Alfred's eyes widened at the urgency in his voice. "I had to leave! They would've found me 'gain. But..." He began calming down. "But now, now there's you, to pro-protect me from them. I had to. Do you understand?"

Even though he didn't, not really, Alfred nodded.

Arthur relaxed, finally closing his eyes again, and settling down into the bed. "Good. Good."

Alfred fell asleep to Arthur's gentle breathing, wondering how he would react in the morning.

"Ugh, Christ..." Arthur moaned, his fingers curling into his tangled hair.

His head felt like burly men were playing rugby on top of his brain, his eyes felt like they were about to drop out of their sockets, he was perilously thirsty and to top it off, it tasted like something evil had died in his mouth. The sound of gentle snoring knocked against the inside of his skull, causing the hung-over Englishman to groan again.

_Snoring_.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, protesting against the sudden light. He found himself drawn close to Alfred's chest, his arms wrapped around the larger man's waist. Alfred's own arms were similar, one gently cradling Arthur's head, the other draped protectively around his shoulders. One of his wings was folded against his back, the other slung over the both of them like an angelic blanket. He went cold. Eyes widening, Arthur managed to squirm out of the American's arms without waking him, relieved to find himself fully dressed. Rolling over, Alfred sprawled himself across the entire bed.

_Bollocks_, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. _What happened last night?_

Despite his blaring headache, Arthur strained to remember the previous night's events. He remembered alcohol; lots of it. He had been drowning his sorrows, that he was sure, recalling briefly his fight with Alfred, but past the point when he ended up composing a drunken sonnet, he didn't have a clue what had happened, except that somehow, he had ended up in a bed, cuddling with his best friend.

Arthur needed to wake him up and find out what had happened. He reluctantly shook Alfred's shoulder, giving an exasperated sigh when of course, he didn't wake up. His headache began pounding even further as his growing impatience and nervousness began building up.

"Alfred!" He said sharply, knitting his brows together.

He crossed his arms and huffed. When he still didn't awake, the Englishman huffed. Leaning over the bed, Arthur grabbed Alfred's shirt and with difficulty, dragged him to the side of the mattress and shoved him off.

"Ugh!" Alfred fell face first on the floor. He twisted round, lying on his back and groaning, but his face brightened instantly upon seeing the blonde above him. "Oh, hey Artie!" He chirped, and then gave another of those dazzling grins.

Arthur flushed. Alfred jumped up, as if he had never been asleep, and much to Arthur's surprise, kissed him full on the mouth.

Arthur squeaked, his already pink cheeks turning as red as a poppy. When Alfred pulled away, he laughed loudly, something he hadn't done for a week, his blue eyes shining happily. Arthur, an expression of horror and embarrassment on his face, didn't have the heart to hit the taller man but instead pushed Alfred in the chest, hard. He wiped his mouth.

"W-what are you doing, Alfred?" Arthur demanded, putting on an angry face. _What was I expecting?_ He was more mad at himself. _I woke up bloody snuggled into his chest!_ "I'm not gay!" His voice wavered, and he swore silently to himself for sounding so uncertain. Alfred just smiled.

"Don't try pullin' one of me Artie, you confessed it last night. You said you liked me. 'Like' liked me." He replied teasingly.

"Bollocks." Arthur collapsed onto the bed, massaging his temples tenderly. "Don't dilly-dally then; tell me what went on last. I can barely remember a thing. Not too loudly, mind, it feels like there are elephants tramping about on my brain."

After a short explanation from a very amused looking American, Arthur swore again. Upon his request, the two continued to the kitchen, where Arthur began brewing a cup of tea while Alfred made some instant coffee. They sat down at the table, as they had done every morning since Arthur had arrived.

"So," Alfred began. "You...you don't regret the kissing me last night, do you?" He looked so nervous; Arthur would've laughed if it had been some other situation.

Arthur blushed, hiding his face in his tea. "Of course not..."

Alfred cheered up instantly. "Great! 'Cause, I like, totally think it's awesome! But," He put down his mug of coffee. "I think I deserve a few answers. Like, why were you being so grumpy before? Why'd ya get so drunk? Why'd ya need to leave? And," His eyes darkened, his voice took on a mysterious tone. "Who are _them_?"

Arthur's face dropped. "I got drunk, unfortunately, because I was upset. I...I wanted to make you hate me. And I didn't want myself to get closer to you." He confessed. "It would make it hard...for me to leave this place. I don't like staying in the same city for too long."

"Wait, you're not gonna leave, are you? You totally can't Artie-"

"I'm not leaving now, you prat." He snapped. His face softened. "Don't worry about it."

"What about 'them'?" Alfred asked.

Arthur looked away, face turning blank.

"Oh, you know," He said, vacantly. "It was just some drunken ramble."

Arthur turned silent, looking down, and managing to read the atmosphere for once, Alfred didn't press it.

"Okay then," Alfred said abruptly, breaking the silence Arthur's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Why don't we do a twenty questions sorta thing? Y'know, I ask you something, you ask me something. I wanna know more 'bout ya, Art."

Arthur reluctantly nodded.

"Okay, I start! Who are Minty and Uni?"

Arthur looked a bit embarrassed, taking a quick drink of tea before replying. "Oh, um, they're just some...imaginary friends from my childhood. I was a bit of a lonely child. I didn't really like the other kids and Mum was always working, so...Minty's a flying green rabbit. Uni's a unicorn, obviously. I tend to talk to them when I'm drunk...Now, it's my turn. What does the F stand for?"

"Oh, uh, it's Franklin. Y'know, the founding father..." He trailed off, smiling as he remembered something. "My parents didn't do it for that though. They were both scientists, real good ones. And Benjamin Franklin was a pretty good scientist too... Neither had powers, I was the first in the family." He laughed. "God, Mom nearly cried when I'd rather join the army than be a scientist. I was only eight though." A melancholic smile turned his lips upwards. He looked at Arthur. "What about yours?"

"Oh, my mother was a sweetheart. Loved me to bits. You remind me a bit of her, actually. She was always smiling. She looked nothing like me. She was beautiful, my mum. My dad...well, I never knew him. My mum always said he was a wonderful person, that I looked just like him, but the bastard went and disappeared in the War along with all the others." He scowled, hands tightening around his mug. "I was one. Left us with nothing and my mum had to work every day of her life just to bring me up. She never took a break. That's probably what killed her."

Alfred blinked and looked away. "My...Mom and dad were killed when I was fifteen. Matthew was just starting college, so it was...really difficult for us. He's a resident now, but it was hard at first. We both got jobs so he could go to medical school and complete his training." He shook his head. "Anyway..."

Arthur and Alfred continued the questions for a while.

Alfred grew up just outside Sanctum city but moved to a tiny apartment in the inner city with Matthew when his parents died. They had a large, typically American house in the suburbs which had to be sold, of course. He had a pleasant childhood before their parent's accident – it had been a car crash – and had been a popular boy at school. They had a dog, a golden retriever patriotically named Independence (Indy for short). He told Arthur of all the misadventures he had gotten up to as a child, dragging poor Mattie along with him, such as the time when he and his brother had climbed over a neighbour's fence to retrieve a lost ball only to meet their vicious Rottweiler. Alfred had required stitches after that particular mishap. Superheroes had always fascinated him; he had been so jealous as a child and when he had discovered that he had powers it thrilled him. He told the story vividly. He had ran into a lamppost and knocked it over.

Arthur, on the other hand, grew up in a cramped flat in the south London. His mother, however, had come from a rich family so he had the accent and manners of a privately educated boy with wealthy parents, but his 'bastard grandparents' had disowned her when she married a 'freak'. He hadn't been born with wings; they started appearing when he was nine. Arthur grimaced as he told the tale. They had grown over a week and the whole experience had hurt like hell. The Englishman hadn't known at the time that his mysterious father had superpowers, and that's when his mother confessed it all to him. He had gone through a rebellious stage that started at fifteen, but that abruptly ended when his mother died a year later. After that, Arthur became very vague. He didn't mention anything to do with the burns on his hands, his scarred back or the strange tattoo on his neck. Alfred didn't want to ask, but...

When he did, he though Arthur might've been angry. But instead his lips just thinned and he looked down.

"There are a lot of things that happened to me in my past that I'd rather not talk about." He said stiffly. "Not to anyone. Not yet, anyway. Please don't ask me again."

Judging the look on Arthur's face, Alfred made a wise move and decided not to push any further. Instead, he just beamed and asked, "So Artie, when are ya gonna come training with me, man?"

They sat atop a skyscraper, their legs dangling precariously over the ledge. A picnic basket was open beside them, revealing all sorts of junk, huge packs of crisps and bottles of coke, a box of assorted brownies, cookies and doughnuts, a large bag of sweets and Alfred had managed to pack two giant McDonald's meals for both of them. A radio, playing some music faintly in the background sat beside the basket. Arthur took a bite of a disgusting looking sandwich he had made for himself previously, looking out into the city. Beyond the grey buildings and the roar of the traffic, because Sanctum was a relatively small city, it was just possible to see the beginnings of the greener suburbs. It was a lovely day. The sun shone warmly down onto the people below them.

He rested his head on Alfred's shoulder, watching the miniature figures of people rushing around the tiny streets underneath them.

"You know, when you told me we were going on a date on top of a building, I wasn't very impressed." Arthur said, adjusting himself and his wings as Alfred wrapped an arm around his waist. "But I've changed my mind."

Alfred's lips stretched as he beamed. "Didn't I tell ya it'd be cool?"

Arthur smiled softly back, allowing the taller American to kiss him. His lips tingled as Alfred's tongue gently made an entry, exploring his mouth. Arthur had to admit, the other was a great kisser. He had kissed and been kissed, both males and females many times before in his defiant teen years, but the girls had just been meek and wet, and the boys had just been forceful and wet. Alfred got it just right, never mind how cliché it sounded, it made Arthur's stomach flutter whenever he did so. He cursed himself for acting like a lovesick teenage girl, but continued kissing Alfred anyway.

He found that as he spent more time with Alfred, he began liking him even more. The man was surprisingly romantic and passionate and strangely even a little bit shy, and though he wasn't always gentle, he always tried to be and hadn't attempted anything past a kiss or a light touch, blushing if Arthur placed one of his hands on his bum.

Alfred loved to touch his wings, and though he found it weird at first it was now strangely comforting. A slow, sweet relationship was what Arthur needed right now.

Arthur's romantic thoughts were interrupted when Alfred suddenly pulled away, holding the back of his head. He frowned, heart sinking.

"Is something wrong?" He asked anxiously.

Alfred looked a little out of it for a second, before snapping back to reality. He grimaced.

"Sorry Artie, I'm gonna have to go. There's something going on," He zoned out again. "Down at the bank, I think. A robbery, I'll bet."

Arthur sighed as Alfred got up. "There's always something going on in this damned city. I swear, whenever we go out something happens." He complained, sulking.

Alfred apologised with a quick peck on the lips, stripping off his clothes. His suit was tight enough to be worn underneath his casual wear and now he wore it almost permanently, only taking it off when Arthur nagged him to wash it. With a brand new suit and refining of his powers, Alfred had gained a little more recognition now, receiving an official name from the public, 'Blue Star' and he even had a small online fan club, though it only had fifty or so members. He hadn't quite made the headlines yet.

"Well, you look very dashing." Arthur commented as Alfred put on his gloves.

Alfred grinned back. "Would ya mind taking the stuff back, Art?" He asked, throwing the Englishman the keys to the apartment.

Arthur nodded, getting up and grabbing everything, quickly stretching his wings as he did so. "See you in a bit, love." And with that, he fell back off the building, unfurling his wings and soaring above the streets, catching the wind to fly above Alfred's head.

"Show off!" He shouted, before jumping right over the edge, landing on the pavement below without knocking anyone over or cracking the concrete. It did earn quite a few shocked faces though.

Arthur twitched his feathers, banking slightly to the left. Flapping his great wings a few times, he gained more lift to bring himself higher. He'd prefer not to be seen by the people below.

He still got a bit nervous when flying in the day. For the whole part, most people didn't seem to notice, and it didn't really matter if they did anyway; they couldn't see his face. Still, he preferred not to be seen. But nothing had happened in the time that he had been here. He sighed, switching the basket from his right to his left arm. It was unusual. Maybe they had just given up on him.

Arthur got back to the apartment in about ten minutes. Unlocking the door, he put everything away, shoving the uneaten snacks into the cupboard. He walked back into the sitting room and stopped. Those four racks still stood in the middle of the room, Alfred having nowhere else to keep them. Arthur hadn't looked at them since Francis's horrid joke, let alone taken a peek at his real suit, preferring to wear some of Alfred's overlarge clothes (which the American found cute, apparently). It was probably something just as lewd and revealing as before, and if not, something similar Alfred's, which Arthur wouldn't wear in a hundred years. But he was quite curious.

So he took a look.

_Not bad._ Arthur turned it over in his hands. It wasn't one of those skin-tight shiny things that many heroes had made Alfred look like a goddamn _god_, and contrary to his expectations, it wasn't incredibly degrading either, with two slits cut in the back for his wings. It had no mask, but a hood that hid his face pretty well and to his relief, a pair of gloves. Unlike Alfred's however, his belt was thin and simple, not made for carrying numerous gadgets. Included in the package was another belt, according to Francis's letter meant to be worn under the suit to carry concealed weapons. Francis had sent two daggers, beautiful, lethally sharp weapons along with it.

Arthur hadn't had much fighting practise. He knew he should; he didn't have super strength or anything like that, and he heavily relied on his wings to escape. Alfred had taught him a little self defence, of course, but they hadn't really gotten far before tiring of it and going to cuddle on the sofa.

Even so, Arthur swallowed his pride and tried it on, and he had to admit, he did feel rather cool in it, though the feeling was quickly swallowed by the thought that he probably looked like an utter prat. He took out the knives and slashed about at the air a bit, feeling more like an idiot as he did so. Tucking the daggers away and trying to push down the feeling of embarrassment that was making his face red even though no one was there, Arthur opened the window, spread out his wings and jumped out, making his way over to the bank.

Alfred saw Arthur disappear off over his head, before he turned and sprinted down the street, skilfully dodging in and out of the thick crowd. Even without his enhanced hearing, the sound of many police sirens was all too clear to Alfred. Finally, he got to the bank. Many police cars were parked outside the building, but unusually, all the actual officers were just standing awkwardly outside, many discussing things urgently with each other, while others were speaking frantically on their phones. They didn't even have their guns out or anything. But when Alfred was spotted, things immediately quickened. One of the officers scurried over to the superhero.

"What's going on?" Alfred demanded. "Why is no one doing anything?"

The officer looked a little embarrassed. "Well, er, you see, we can't go in. It's guy with powers. Every officer we've sent in there so far hasn't come out and we've received orders not to do anything else."

Alfred looked a little shocked, before regaining his composure. This was definitely going to be his toughest challenge yet.

"How many people are in there? Do you know what his powers are?"

"There are approximately fifty or so hostages, not including the missing officers. And we have no idea what his powers are. We can't get a look at him." The officer replied, gesturing over to the bank's windows and glass doors. They were completely black. "But the man hasn't even tried to leave! From what we've gathered he hasn't even tried to take money. He just won't leave."

Alfred licked his lips a little nervously. "Thanks. I'm gonna go in now."

"Wait-"

The hero ignored the officer and ran straight for the bank, bursting through the doors. He didn't see that Arthur was watching from afar.

The door slammed open and Alfred entered placing his hands on his hips in a typical 'hero' pose. "Alright the hero's here!" He shouted. The door swung shut behind him. He looked around the bank, which to be honest, other than the complete lack of people, seemed perfectly normal. Until, of course, he saw the missing fifty or so people huddled at the back of the room. A tall man sat on the front desk, crossed in a confident position. A smirk adorned his stubbled face, and he was wearing a dark green greatcoat and long brown boots. Under a scarlet fez, Alfred could see his dark brown hair sticking out in all directions, a little like Arthur's but shorter. A long scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck and a simple white mask covered his eyes.

"Hey!" Alfred called out, balling up his fists. The cocky smirk on the guy's face just widened. "What do you want?"

"Oh?" The man got up, his boots clicking on the marble floor. "I don't want anything from them." When he talked, it sounded like many people were speaking all at once through the same mouth, and it echoed against the walls. "I just want to fight someone."

Alfred stiffened, trying hard not to allow a shiver to race up his spine. This guy creeped him out. He admitted it. He swallowed.

"Well if ya wanna do that, that's what I'm here for." He shouted from across the room. "Let the civilians go!"

But the man just laughed, and even when he stopped it reverberated off the walls. He reached to his hip, still smiling, and with a grunt, began pulling at something. Alfred watched, gape-mouthed, as a glimpse of scarlet-stained metal appeared in his hand and the man pulled a bloody sword from his leg, sliding it cleanly out as if it was nothing. Alfred felt slightly sick, then worried as the man quickly cleaned the slightly curved sword on his trousers before brandishing it at him. The wound was instantly swallowed up by the surrounding skin.

The man grinned.

**Author's note: **Phew, managed to get this up before Wednesday. This chapter was a lot more fun to write than the last (especially the drunken Arthur scene cx What did you guys think of that?). Sorry for cutting off the fight scene but you'll have to wait. The chapter was getting to nearly six thousand words! That's the longest yet, I think.

Anyway, what did you think of Turkey? I kept him in his Hetalia uniform because I thought it looked cool anyway and it came with a mask. Do you like his power? I think being able to pull things out of your body without any serious internal damage is pretty cool. The sword he uses is a yatagan, that was used from the mid-16th to late 19th centuries in Ottoman Turkey. They're pretty awesome. Look it yatagan or simply Turkish sword in google images and you'll find it there.

Also, I'm putting the poll up on my account, so GO VOTE NOW. The options are Archangel, Celestial, Britannia Angel (don't judge me, I had to include it), Winged Starlight (Skadiyoko), Galactic (also Skadiyoko) and White Eagle (Oighear Croi). Since there are more choices then last time, I'm going to allow you to vote for TWO different names. Only two.

Finally, thanks once again to everyone who faved, read, or alerted me or this story! Big hugs and internet cookies for reviewers, including fujikawaii10346, Skadiyoko, Alphine, Haloheart, alguien22792, cutekittenlady, Miniflip999 and Oighear Croi. I love all you guys and I'll try to update when I get back.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Shit!" Alfred stumbled backwards in surprise as the man lunged forwards, nearly plunging his sword straight into the hero's belly. Alfred hit the ground and span to the side almost immediately, heart racing as he saw the sword strike the marble floor right beside his neck.

"Do you really think you can be a superhero?" The stranger's voice asked mockingly, slightly accented. Alfred scrambled to his feet. "Life's not that simple, nor that perfect."

The American gritted his teeth and swung a fist at the masked villain, who didn't even bother to try dodging but simply held up a blocking hand. Alfred's fist hit the open palm, and suddenly felt the same weightlessness that he had experienced with Francis envelop his forearm, before a hideous dampness settled around his hand. With a sinking feeling, Alfred looked from the man's smirking face to his arm and saw his limb disappeared completely into the other's palm. Murmured gasps and even a short scream burst from the terrified crowd as Alfred hurriedly extracted his hand, coated in someone else's blood. A ragged torn breath shuddered from Alfred's surprised lungs. The man continued talking before swinging his sword towards Alfred's exposed neck.

"You are not immortal. You can die, Mr Jones."

Alfred bristled, but the crowd appeared not to have heard a word that either of them were saying. He punched again and again, shouting in frustration as he only succeeded in bloodying his new gloves. As he got more riled up, Alfred could feel himself draining, getting weaker and slower and making more mistakes. The villain managed to knock the hero down, settling his sword against Alfred's neck with a laidback ease, before slashing it against his stomach. A groan escaped from Alfred's lips as he doubled over, feeling his blood leak between his fingers.

"But I'm not here to kill you, Alfred Franklin Jones. That would be too easy."

The man withdrew his sword from Alfred's neck and pointed it over at the people. A strange look overcame his masked face and his voice that sounded like so many combined in one took on a higher, more desperate tone, still accented, but not the same as the original. It was as if someone else altogether had started speaking through this man's mouth.

"Tell me Alfred," The villain said, seemingly unaware of the blood that was beginning to pool on the floor. Alfred coughed weakly. "Why do you insist on protecting these people? They are not like you and I; they are human, for one."

"I _am_ human." Alfred growled through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes painfully and his strength was slowly channelled away with his vital fluid.

"No you're not. Neither of us are. Do you think humans can pull things from their bodies without harm, or produce fire and ice with a mere click of their fingers? Humans can't turn to stone, breathe underwater, humans can't fly with wings like angels." Alfred's breath hitched. "Then again, maybe you are telling the truth. After all, you don't seem to have any powers at all, _little boy-"_

The masked man stopped suddenly, wide-eyed smile faltering only slightly as there was a flash of silver and two daggers appeared crossed at his throat. He grinned, voice reverting back to its original form.

"What do we have here? An ally, Alfred? You didn't tell me; I'm hurt." He said, mock sadness infecting his voice, though he didn't even bother trying to turn around. The smile didn't fall from his face.

"I suggest," came an icy, unmistakably familiar voice. "That you come with me." There was a pause. "If you want to keep your head, that is."

A collective sigh of relief was released from the crowd, but Alfred grunted in frustration.

"It's no use," He said, angrily, pressing a hand to the gash across his belly. He winced. It was bleeding a lot, but it was shallow. He'd live. "He absorbs things into his body."

"Let him risk his neck then." Arthur called back.

The man chuckled.

Within a moment, all the light in the room was instantly absorbed into the villain's body, and his skin glowed briefly, flashing a brilliant smirk before darkness exploded into the bank.

"Fuck!" Arthur swore and he was blinded and he leapt back, away from the man who now had a great advantage over both of them. Suddenly there was a clash of metal against metal.

Alfred jumped painfully to his feet, fumbling at his belt for the pod that was strapped to the durable leather. His heart bounded painfully around his chest as he continued to hear scrape of steel echoing around the room, growing in his steadily sharpening ears. The sounds abruptly stopped. Alfred cracked open the pod, immediately putting in his contact lenses. The world suddenly brightened into a greyscale scene with a grainy feel to it, flickering slightly. Arthur was on the floor, his arms pinned against the marble by the man's knees and a sword hovering above his chest, immobilising him completely. The villain knelt over him, hood gripped in hand.

Alfred ripped a potted plant from the floor with a grunt, and hurled it across the room. The object hit the man dead on, knocking him straight off Arthur with ease, and he flew back and into the darkness, out of Alfred's sight.

"Arthur!" Alfred ran up to his boyfriend. "Are you alright? Quickly, put these on!" He handed him the contacts and Arthur obliged, replying.

"Yes, I'm absolutely fine." Then he gasped. "Christ Alfred, you need to see a doctor-"

"I'm fine!"

"You most certainly are not fine, Alfred Franklin-"

"Artie!"

Alfred pulled Arthur to the side and towards his chest as Arthur's own dagger whistled past them. Arthur helped Alfred to his feet.

"Alright, we don't have much time. You're injured. I want you to get the civilians out of here, and I'll handle this guy, ok?"

"But-"

"Alfred, you're useless against him! I can bait him, wear him down. Just go!"

Arthur shoved Alfred away, and ran to the side, grabbing his two daggers and jumping straight into the air and unfurling his wings, flying into darkness. Alfred rushed to the hostages and began to lead them quietly outside. He glanced back, watching briefly as Arthur hovered around the villain, slashing and stabbing at the man's back and neck, continually evading his increasingly aggravated slashes of his sword. He flew back and forth in short bursts like an annoying fly, lashing out as the villain began to swing his sword wildly and lose balance with his own momentum.

"Al-Blue Star!" Arthur called out. It took Alfred a minute to realise that _he _was Blue star. "Hurry up!"

Alfred nodded as Arthur returned to his job, and kicked open the doors of the bank. The light was a little blinding, but he managed to usher everybody out and safely over to the barricade of police cars and waiting ambulances.

Arthur glanced at the American as he left the bank, before returning to his task. The man's rage was growing; Arthur could see it, contorted on his masked face. Suddenly the rage fell right off his face, replaced by a knowing smile and his voice once again changed.

Arthur shivered, growing cold but continued anyway.

"You can't keep that up forever, Arthur." He said, smile remaining softly on his face. "I know it's you. I'd recognise those wings anywhere."

Arthur didn't answer but twirled behind the villain, but the man seemed to have guessed what he was doing and span around, moving forward to push Arthur up against the wall. Arthur's eyes widened as his back hit the wall, eyes widening as he realised that his wings were brushing against the ceiling, and that if he didn't get out now, he would be trapped. In one last desperate attempt to escape, the winged Englishman dashed over the man's head, only to be grabbed by the ankle and flung against the wall, gasping as the breath was knocked out of him. He dropped to the ground, falling in an exhausted heap.

The man took Arthur's costume and hauled him up, keeping him pressed against the wall, even as he struggled.

"I've been searching for you." The sword lay discarded on the floor, but Arthur managed to slash out with one dagger, creating a long gash in the man's cheek that he didn't seem to notice, before a large hand squeezed his wrist and forced him to drop the weapon with a cry. "Why-"

There was a suddenly a slam and Arthur tumbled to the ground, breathing heavily and cradling his wrist as he was released.

Alfred's eyes were blazing, ice cold as he drove the man's sword into the wall and bent it around the villain's neck, plunging the hilt in too and making a lethally sharp collar.

"Don't you _dare_ touch him again." He hissed, face threatening.

But the man only chuckled darkly, and flashing another glare, the hero backed off.

Alfred turned to his boyfriend. "Arthur, are you alright?"

Arthur got up and nodded, though he looked nervous, and the two walked outside. Cameras flashed, and both of them were pretty much covered in blood, but Arthur smiled and looked at Alfred, only to fall off his face practically instantly.

"Alfred!" Arthur caught his taller boyfriend, grunting slightly as his strained to hold him up. Alfred gave a groan, clutching his stomach as his blood steadily seeped from the wound and Arthur paled dramatically. "Come on, stay awake, you stupid hero, don't sleep yet." He urged, slightly desperate as Alfred's eyelids flickered, barely conscious.

Arthur glanced around, before dragging Alfred over to the line of ambulances, spotting a familiar face in the crowd nearby, and he waved him over frantically.

Matthew hurried over and grabbed his brother, slinging an arm around his shoulder in order to help carry him.

"What happened?" Matthew asked rapidly, obvious concern on his face.

"In the bank," Arthur started, but his words were all over the place, and he swallowed. "He's…oh God, I don't know! He's going to be alright?"

Matthew stayed silent for a while, inspecting the injury. "I don't know…he's lost a lot of blood…"

Arthur's breath hitched. Suddenly Alfred was whisked away by a group of paramedics, but Arthur followed swiftly, panicking slightly as Alfred drifted in and out of his sight, and flinching every time he saw needles and other various bits of medical equipment, especially when they were used on Alfred. He was about to climb into the back of the ambulance behind Alfred when a paramedic tried to stop him.

"Sorry, sir, you can't come-"

"I'll bloody well do what I please, don't you _dare_ to try and stop me!"

The paramedic was silenced and backed warily away from the fuming Briton, who then turned worriedly back to Alfred. One of the paramedics reached for Alfred's mask.

"Don't." Arthur said darkly, catching the man's hand in a tight grip before releasing it and casting another icy stare.

They packed Alfred into the ambulance and Matthew quickly took over the job of the paramedic while Arthur sat uselessly, looking wide-eyed and sick as he stared vacantly at Alfred's weak face.

The ambulance siren wailed all the way to the hospital.

Matthew glanced at Arthur. The man was stiff, obviously tense as he sat awkwardly by the hospital bed, clutching Alfred's limp hand like a lifeline. His stricken eyes were trained on the unconscious man, at the bandages wrapped around his stitched up stomach, and he coughed quietly.

"You can go home if you like," Matthew said, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He could see that he was uncomfortable in the hospital. The Englishman flinched slightly, but stayed silent. "He'll be fine, but he won't be out until tomorrow."

Arthur shook his head.

"No. Al would stay with me if…" Arthur's hoarse voice trailed off. "I'm staying."

Matthew sighed, having realised by now how stubborn Arthur was and nodded.

"Well, I'm leaving. I've got work in the morning and I need to get a good night's sleep. Call me if he wakes up, okay?"

Arthur nodded in response, before looking back at Alfred. Suddenly, he felt something squeeze his hand, and he jumped up, grinning as Alfred's eyelashes fluttered and the Englishman gave choked cry of relief as the vivid blue of Alfred's eyes appeared again.

"Ughh…I feel like crap…Artie, Arthur, you alright?"

Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shoulder, aware that someone could walk in any moment and catch the two superheroes snuggling, but he didn't care, sniffing slightly as he felt his eyes grow a bit wet.

It was stupid, he knew Alfred would be fine, but he had worried. When his boyfriend was lying unconscious on a hospital bed, looking like death, he had expected the worst. Arthur was a bit of a pessimist.

"Arthur…everything will be okay…everything will be fine."

**Author's note:** Blarrg, that wasn't a very good chapter . The next chapter will be better though (hopefully), but there's something I want to ask you. The next chapter may or may not include a sex scene. It's the first that I'll have written, so I'm a bit nervous. What do you guys think of that? It'll be nothing _too_ hardcore, I think. I think it's a bit early in their relationship to be having sex, it's only been 1-3 months since they started dating (call me old-fashioned, but I do think that's a bit soon) but that'll probably be part of the plot. I will highlight the actual scene in the next chapter for those who'd prefer to skip it :)

Anyway, thank you all again for reading, favouriting or putting me on alerts, and special thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: budgieb, Sporks and Yoghurt, The great Emi sama, Miniflip999, fujikawai10346, Alphine and Oighear Croi. This story has nearly fifty reviews! I'm so happy, I could cry T.T You guys are amazing.

Oh yeah, Arthur's chosen superhero name is now Archangel, with 33% voting for that option. But thank you to Skadiyoko and Oighear Croi for the suggestions!

Alfred F. Jones/America, Arthur Kirkland/England/Britain, Matthew Williams/Canada and Sadiq Adnan/Turkey do not belong to me. They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Arthur quickly pulled on a scarf and a pair of shoes before exiting the apartment, rapidly making his way down the endless flights of stairs. He stepped out into the pale winter sunlight, breath instantly dispersing into the chilly air around him as it took on a more solid form, escaping from his mouth like a dragon's toxic breath or cigarette fumes. He began to walk briskly down the road, cheeks pinking softly as he built up a good pace, and he nuzzled slightly further into his scarf.

When Arthur eventually reached his destination, he smiled gently, and entered the café, triggering a soft tinkle from the bell above the door as he pushed his way in. The shop was fairly busy, but after a few minutes of searching Arthur caught sight of his boyfriend. He grinned. Alfred was running about, taking orders and delivering drinks and cute plates of food, piled high with muffins and fudgy brownies and delicious looking toasties dripping with melted cheese.

Arthur loved watching Alfred work. Whether it was at home, diligently working away at those comics which he just poured his heart and soul into, or at the café, where he was required to be on his best behaviour and wear that cute little apron that had 'The Coffee Shop' embroidered in cursive text across the middle.

Alfred hadn't noticed him yet, so Arthur walked to the counter.

"Good morning Feliciano." He greeted the Italian cheerfully, and he smiled again, even though the other man's back was turned.

The smaller man twisted slightly, tending to the espresso machine, and his face brightened visibly as he saw the Englishman.

"Oh, ciao Arthur!" He grabbed the small cups of coffee and span around, placing them on the countertop and waving another waiter, a Spaniard, over to collect the order. "How are you today?" He quickly poured steamed milk into both cups and swirled the foam into a rippling pattern, all while his eyes were trained intensely on Arthur's face, smile still on his lips. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm alright, thank you. I actually came here to see Alfred, but he looks a little too busy right now."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Feliciano said cheerfully. He moved slightly to the side and began waving his arm frantically, leaning over the counter on his tiptoes. "Hey, everybody! No orders for a while, 'kay? The staff are taking a quick break."

The perky barista then proceeded to skip away, grabbing hold of a tall, muscled waiter with swept back blonde hair and dragging him with surprising strength to a small table near the front window of the building, chatting happily. Another barista, Feliciano's brother Lovino emerged yawning from the back door, walking to the coffee machine and he began to make himself a latte while trying to ignore the Spanish waiter who was floating around him.

Arthur walked up to Alfred and dragged him away from a pretty girl who was trying to order her breakfast, and sat him down at a quiet table next to the apricot-hued wall.

"Earl Grey and an Americano right, bastard?" Lovino called irritably from the counter, shoving the Spaniard's head (whose name, Arthur was able to decipher from the older Italian's copious amount of swearing, was Antonio) out of his way as he reached for the cups.

"Thanks, Lovino." Alfred called back, flashing a grin, chuckling slightly as the barista began to growl at the waiter, a murderous glint in his eye.

He turned to Arthur and gave a genuine smile (to which Arthur blushed shyly in response) before grabbing his hands under the table. Arthur reddened further, and scowled slightly even though he was already feeling a bit of happy giddiness, glancing away as Alfred's intensely blue eyes stared warmly into his own.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" He muttered embarrassedly. "If I had known you'd be like this I wouldn't have come at all."

Arthur smirked slightly and Alfred laughed, leaning forward to catch the Brit's lips with his own, only to jump apart as Lovino slammed down their beverages right in-between them.

"Your orders." Lovino said, blushing furiously as he fled.

Arthur restrained a small laugh and pecked Alfred chastely on the lips, before once again they abruptly pulled apart, interrupted by the soft – but increasingly irritating, Arthur noted – jingle of the bell, alerting Alfred to a new customer. The man turned, hands pulled away.

It had to be said, even by Arthur, that the woman who entered was beautiful; she had thick, jet black hair that was tied back in a careless pony tail, and he felt his mouth grow slightly dry as he noticed her more than reasonably sized chest, emphasised by her tight white t-shirt. Feliciano and the blonde guy both turned to look, and even Lovino and his Spanish waiter's eyes popped. But he faltered further as he caught Alfred staring too, noticeably, at her breasts.

His previously good mood was draining quickly.

Alfred, after a long period of staring, turned to Arthur and managed to stutter a short apology before jumping out of his chair to take her order. Arthur sank back into his own chair and watched.

The girl was obviously flirting with Alfred, flicking her hair and batting her ridiculously long eyelashes at him as if she had something in her eyes, and giggling at everything he said. Arthur could vaguely hear her complimenting him in every way and he watched Alfred's grin grow, but he couldn't tell if he did it because he was flirting with her, because she was feeding his inflated ego, or if it was just Alfred being Alfred.

Arthur slid slightly more into his chair, picking up his cup of tea and sipping it dangerously, eyes trained on the pair. The girl laughed, conjured a pen from her pocket, and wrote down what was obviously a phone number on a napkin, handing it to Alfred. Arthur sputtered violently and quickly placed his cup down, standing up and rushing to the door as Alfred just stood there, holding it in his hands.

The Englishman walked quickly down the street, green eyes wide as he sped down the pavement. His mind flashed back to the scene in the café and a wave of jealousy flared up within him, but he quickly reminded himself that Alfred had specifically told him that he was _gay._ Not straight, or bi, or pansexual. Gay….Arthur frowned. Alfred had also said that he had previously been confused about his sexuality. Shaking his head, Arthur tried to dismiss the thought, finding his key to the apartment and going inside, locking the door behind him. It wasn't healthy to think about these things.

Alfred returned later that evening, chucking his bag on the floor and collapsing exhaustedly on the sofa. He closed his eyes, and sank further into the couch, shifting a cushion underneath his head. After a few minutes of relaxation, Alfred blearily opened his eyes.

"Oh, hey Arthur." He said, looking up.

The Englishman stood by the doorway, dressed in one of Alfred's oversized t-shirts (the one with the batman logo emblazoned across the chest) and a short pair of boxers, hands covered by a pair tight leather gloves, with a nondescript expression on his face.

Alfred sat up and reddened slightly as his boyfriend stretched like a cat, elegantly on his tiptoes as he extended his arms above his head, his t-shirt pulling upwards to reveal his clear, pale stomach, almost completely smooth compared to how battered his torso had been when Alfred had first met him, and his shorts rose slightly to uncover even more of his scantily clad thighs.

"Good evening Alfred." Arthur replied, his voice low and husky, and he walked over to where his boyfriend was currently lying, and climbed onto the sofa.

Alfred's blue eyes widened considerably as Arthur straddled his hips, hands pushing firmly against his chest as he leant down, smirking, and smashed his lips forcefully against Alfred's own, only breaking away to pull off his t-shirt, leaving the American hot and breathing heavily as Arthur's wings unfurled, softly brushing Alfred's cheek as they rose and gave a gentle flap. They were colossal, and blindingly white, and Alfred couldn't help but stare before Arthur's lips once again collided with his own.

The Brit's hands skilfully began to unbutton his own shirt (where did Arthur get all this experience?) as he pushed his tongue into Alfred's mouth, flicking it lightly over his perfect, American teeth. Alfred grunted and turned away for a second to catch a breath of air, and Arthur attacked his neck, littering kisses up and down the tanned skin.

"Arthur." Alfred panted softly, trying to catch the smaller man's attention. He looked at his boyfriend's face; although the Englishman was kissing him with passion, his face was still blank and his green eyes were expressionless, glinting coldly in the artificial light above. "Arthur, hey! Look at me!"

The man continued to ignore him and ran his hands down Alfred's toned chest and stomach before beginning to unzip his jeans.

"Arthur, slow down!"

Abruptly, finally, the Brit ceased, hands freezing at Alfred's zipper. He sat up, hurt evident on his features and crossed his arms, wings twitching slightly in irritation.

"Don't you like this? I'm doing it for _you_, Alfred!" The Brit huffed, himself now blushing furiously, and his mouth made a downward turn.

Alfred's cheeks went slightly pink. "Well, of course I like it, but-"

"You're not even remotely turned on." Arthur said sourly, acidic eyes glancing down at the opening of Alfred's trousers. He narrowed his eyes and frowned, looking upset. "You told me you were gay!"

Alfred's eyes widened briefly, before he laughed slightly and twisted, pulling Arthur down with him so that they were both on their sides, facing each other, pressed close together with their legs entwined to stop one from falling off the edge of the sofa.

"You're so cute when you're jealous." He said pleasantly, nuzzling closer to the Englishman. Arthur looked affronted and turned his head away. Alfred's expression became more serious, and he took Arthur's chin in his hand and gently pulled it in his direction, as to look at him directly. "I am gay, Arthur." He continued.

Arthur glowered slightly. "It's just that girl in the café today…" He said weakly.

"Arthur. I was just doing my job. And just because I like men doesn't mean that I don't…" he blushed slightly. "Notice these things. I mean, just look at Feli! He's totally gay for Ludwig but he still ogled her!" He paused. "You don't have to…try and _seduce _me to prove your worth." Alfred grinned. "But you do look really hot like that."

Arthur took a happier expression, moving his wing so that it was draped across both of them like a blanket, before closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit nervous, that's all. I haven't really ever been in a proper relationship like this."

Alfred placed a soft kiss on his forehead and moved his hand to brush aside a stray strand of hair, when he stopped.

"Hey…you have pierced ears?" Alfred noted, surprise evident in his voice. He examined Arthur's ears, small, almost closed holes extending all the way up the outer shell.

"'Course. I told you, I went through a punk phase." He replied, grimacing slightly. "Christ, I was such a bastard back then."

Alfred sniggered. "Did you have a Mohawk?"

"No! I dyed it red and ran around London listening to obscenely loud music, smoking cigarettes and generally causing problems for both the police and the public. Nothing serious."

"You sounded like trouble."

"Not really. I was still too scared shitless by my mother's wrath to do anything that would land me in prison." Arthur yawned. "Anyway, enough of that." He said tiredly, eyes still firmly shut.

Alfred pulled his Englishman closer and closed his own blue eyes, taking his glasses off and dropping them on the carpeted floor. They slept.

**Author's note:** Gah, again I'm sorry to my readers for making you wait, and for supplying you with this sorry excuse for a chapter. It's pretty boring. As usual, I don't really have an excuse.

Also, someone pointed out that Alfred's middle name was Foster. It is actually unknown what his middle name is.

Anyway, thank you for reading or favouriting, and especially to those who reviewed: fujikawaii10346, Grimm, wonttellya, Sporks love and Renuki. I now have fifty reviews!

Neither Arthur Kirkland/England nor Alfred F Jones/USA belong to me. Nor are Feliciano Vargas/Italy, Lovino Vargas/Romano, Antonio Fernandez Carreido and Ludwig/Germany my charcters. Though that is a bit obvious, considering this is on a fanfiction website.


End file.
